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in the United States and Great Britain

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Entered at the Philadelphia Post-Office

Published Weekly at 425 Arch Street by THE CuRTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
London: Hastings House,.10,Norfolk Street. Strand,WC.

as Second-Class Matter

Volume 178 PHILADELPHIA, APRIL 14, 19OO

Number we |

Humors of Yellow Journalism

ELLOW journalism’'s essence is

“4 to try todo what can't be done

Thissimple task, set to each

qe WG yellow editor by each yellow chief

ya 6,0 and gprs oe. to each yellow

v \ reporter and writer by each yellow

Qrresareh \ olin. brought about the ama ing
poser te a? season of newspaper hyst«

was at its height a few years ago
and has now subsided to near-sanit

\ except in a few conspicuous spots
Yellow journalism never represented
anything but the externals of the
real journalism of the country, which
needs no defense and no apology It
was the motley, put on by nervous
publishers because they saw other
publishers getting apparent returns
from the practice

Publishing newspapers is like any other business. If one kind of a play makes a hit
nearly every other manager puts on the same kind of a play. If a farmer gets some
money for raising sugar beets, every other farmer in that section raises sugar beets
Yellow journalism was originated, in its later-day form, in New York, by a few born
sensationalists, who would have been equally sensational if they had been preachers or
lawyers or actors, or in any other line of work. Its practices were adopted in other
parts of the country. It reached the padded-cell stage and then began to decline to
something resembling tranquillity.

One great reason for the swinging back from emotionalism to conservatism was
because the yellow editors had exhausted their resources as well as disgusted their
public. They had played out the string. They had interviewed popes and kings, had
had signed statements from almost every human being of any importance; had used
the courts, so far as possible, to help the dear people get their rights; had tried to use
Congress —and had succeeded a few times—in their crusades; had exploited all the
freaks, abnormalities, curiosities and deformities; had told about
the buried cities of previous civilizations; had restored every
prehistoric monster. There was nothing left to do but go back to
printing the news and to see that that news was as well and
attractively written as possible. There were other reasons
powerful ones—that hastened sanity, but those reasons need not
be discussed here.

The whole theory of the game, as played by the yellow editors,
was concretely expressed by one of the ablest of the cult. A
reporter was protesting that an assignment was impossible

“Of course it’s impossible,”’ said the editor. ‘*That’s why I want
it done. Suppose I give you one hundred impossible assignments
and you fail on ninety-nine of them, but get the hundredth. Then
see what you've got.”

That is fine talk. Every lecturer on ‘“‘ How to Succeed” since
Socrates has pointed out that the way to get along is to do what
nobody else can do. Every adventurer in the field of high
emprise has had that for his motto. The trouble with the yellow
editors was that they confounded ‘‘fantastic’’ with ‘‘impossible.”’
They ran a side-show with Circassian beauties and snake-charmers,
but they never did get their exhibition under the main tent

Along about Spanish War times were the halcyon days. Then
the yellow editors were revolving at highest speed, giving off
sparks that illuminated Park Row from Andy Horn’s to the Book
Store and Broadway from the Dodge statue to the blinking owls.
The yellow game had been growing until 1898. Freaks and
features were nearly at the limit. The starving reconcentrados
had been pictured time and again in their skeletonized woe.
‘‘Cuba MUST be free!’’ But the Spaniards hung on. Then the
Maine was blown up or blew up—(take your choice) -WHOOP!

away they went. There wasn't a responsible editor in New
York who had been at work when the nation was at war before
It was all new. ‘ B-l-o-o-d!”’ they shouted, and emphasized their
shouts with red ink and foot-high type.

They got their war. It was only a little war, as the President
points out, but it was big enough, for, in addition to their war, the

Sow

By a Reformed Yellow Journalist

WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!

managing editors to shed bitter, bitter tear

What the proprietors said and did can only
No paper came out of the war
with any added reputation or prestig

war correspondent got anything but mala
another you will observe a large number of

ibre conservatism, a polic \
It is too expensive

from this country to the

gradual, but effective

are not so freaky

in the rarest instances

Then a young man
magazine section

“playing up”’ Bible stories

: : ? He Can Get a Picture in a Second that Will
newspapers zot expense-bills that made auditors faint and caused Dishes the Subdect Swaar. ct Mewennnete
Editor's Note —This is the first of a series of three articles. All the Rest of His Life

y confined to one series of publications, and they
nn headlines are used, in most papers, only
lriver fell off a truck it took a seven-column
the harrowing and d inted detail pread

clopment, began with certain sections of
they call then These lor erl , were
with a news value, written | members of
1 to interest, entertain and, perhaps, instruct
peared and toc k charge of a New York Sunday paper
a genius at excitement First off, he began
over his pages with line drawings and big
ric were ne to most reader it may be
cave-dwellers, to extinet monsters, to the
newest, the oldest things in the werld, the
they j , of mm the ¢ par i
ind society people, the pictures of beautiful
tre ’ the cost alwa the cost of every-
thing reduced to the price of har indwiche » that the dullest
nd not forgetting the shocker the weird,
hen laid a couple of snakes it was worth a
d ted and ¢ matory style of writing
rd capital letter He dealt in hype
‘ } : iff i pr ent " fla local
ht it w 1 kahand. Ever
il \ t la | i 1 rapid ¢ lu
occupa of t what actually had
might } per is th t! The paper ceased
vents and | ep } th imaginative
ell St if apn ‘
re had pa la law ng all ne per
nw h there wv ha b ell
the hea r ti rT} } noti .
he hvy } Ar that i
id , ow f ‘ t to the
the d h of th { } hole page
r iron Spain, t New York
n their 4% but ! t letter
dand or ! (
ind pre plates had I to do
inte he d The the vere
could go no further A 1 page headline ji
idle of the paper, but display in the middle is of
The best goods must be in the front window,
produced by these make-up ar n the
el] There \ tha ra ¢ nsa
who put « tap eT r 1 he first
hair-ra ny announcement

BUBONIC PLAGUE IN CHICAGO

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

he heard that a man named John Burns had been thrown
from his horse on a country road near by and killed. Here
was the chance. He built this head, using all the job type
in the place and setting it four columns wide in the middle
of his local page:
BROKE HIS NECK
TERRIBLE ACCIDENT TO JOWUN BURNS
ON THE MILL ROAD

THROWN FROM HORSE
RESPECTED CITIZEN MEETS UNTIMELY
DEATH THIS MORNING

The headline took up almost all of the page. The editor
had not time to write an item to go with the head, so he put
beneath it one line in pica, reading: ‘‘Our reporter is
informed that the above
happened this morning.”
That was all there was
to it, and that is about
all there was to the usual
story beneath one of these
staring captions. The
headline was the thing.
If it was accomplished
satisfactorily, the mere
detail of what was told
about in the head was of

no consequence
Up the State in New
York there was, for many
years, a staid, conserva-

- tive, respectable organ of
the old-fashioned Demo-
An Editor of an Afternoon Paper had an Inspiration crats. It always printed

You could see that for a block when a newsboy held it up
It was at a time when there were reports that the plague
was being brought in from the Philippines. Chicago folks,
fearing a visitation of the loathsome disease, bought the
papers excitedly. When they got them they found the
complete head read:

BUBONIC PLAGUE IN CHICAGO
NO OF IT HEALTI \
The ‘‘no danger” part of it was unobtrusive and shrink-

il
in

g, set in smail, neat and not gaudy type
Then there was the student of effect who produced this,
one dull afternoon when a crank threw a stone in the direc-

tion of the Emperor William:
EMPEROR WILLIAM

‘ 4

ASSASSINATEB

The “might have been”’ and ‘if he had been hit”’ were
barely discernible

Everything that could be done with type in a page-
width was done. They twisted it into fantastic shapes.
The sole idea was to sell papers, and it sold them Of late,
the ery of ‘‘Extry!” that used to send people scurrying to
the sidewalks to get a paperand find out what had happened
does not excite the slightest interest now. The yellows
put the assassination of the President on the level with a
Brooklyn Bridge crush, so far as the headlines go

In the fierce con petition they resorted to red and blue
ink. They call it vellow journalism, but, in reality, it is
red journalism, for red sticks out on a newspaper page and
yellow is but a sickly color at best. At the time of the
Guldensuppe murder, which happened at the most hyster-
ical period of yellowness, there were headline convulsions
that made everybody but the deadly-in-earnest editors
laugh. , Guldensuppe was a Turkish bath-rubber who, it
was charged, was cut to pieces by a woman, assisted by a
man. They hacked off his head and dismembered him
and did a lot of unkind things to him, and the news-
papers reveled in it, inasmuch as various parts of the
body were found in various parts of New York

An editor of an afternoon paper had an inspiration. He
printed a‘ Blood!’ headline in red ink. Not to be outdone,
the editor of a rival paper stretched white space up the
middle of his'paper S first pas’e and ont!
series of red splotches whi h, it Was announced. were the

space daube da

‘bloody footprints” of somebody. That was a master-
troke The editor of the rival paper cmed be iuse he
did not think of it first

The headline mania ran for several year It was a
bitter war. Papers in all parts of the country began dis-

playing the most trivial items of news, especially crimes,
with great sprawling captions that had no particular
reference tothetext. A favorite top-line was ‘ P-L-O-T!”’
It took about four letters fora top line of the biggest usable
type. They could discover a plot in anything from a
meeting of an Italian societ: a saloon
to the finding of a broken bottle in a garbage barrel.
It got to the smaller papers. There was an editor of a
weekly out in Ohio who became infected. He thought he
1ust make his paper like most of the rest. He waited for
his opportunity, and it came. One morning, just before he

was going to press with his edition of twelve hundred copies,

iety in the back room of

the telegraph news on
the first page, under modest headlines, usually putting the
proceedings of ¢ ongress in the first column, no matter
what else had happened. It was high-toned editorially
and read by all the best families. Notwithstanding its re-
spectability and great moral purposes, its circulation
lagged, for, one must admit, it was deadly dull. Otherand
livelier papers took away its field, bit by bit, and, finally,
the man who owned it decided something must be done.

He met a young man with ideas and ambitions. This
young man had studied yellow journalism under the two
great geniuses of the cult. He was quite certain he could
rejuvenate and reorganize the paper and make it a great,
popular and powerful newspaper. He had been through the
yellow mill, had sat at the feet of the masters and he knew
the value of display. The owner, after long consideration,
hired him and he took hold.

Just at the time he took charge a man in a small towna
few miles away poisoned his wife with prussic acid. Here
was a chance for an earnest young journalistic upbuilder.
On the morning before he took charge the paper came out
with its usual conservative first page. The staid business
men found it at their breakfast-tables and read it with sat-
isfaction. This was one paper, at least, that remained true
to the older principles of journalism and upheld the stand-
ards. Quite so. Next day the young man went to his new
task. He cast about for something with which to make a
sensation. The murder! That was it. Everybody was
talking about it.

The body of the wife had been exhumed. There was a
chemical analysis in progress. Next morning, when the
staid business men took up their favorite paper at break-
fast, they didn’t find the proceedings of ( ‘ongress on the first
page. Notso. Instead, there was a picture, four columns
wide and almost as deep as the page, that showed the chem-
ist Jauntily stirring up in a glass jar, with a glass rod, what
was left of the woman—and the contents of the jar were
shown, with masterly skill, by the artist.

It was a perfect yellow proposition, but wow! wow!
what a row it made in that city. They didn’t appreciate it
there. All that day the amazed owner of the paper stood in
his counting-room and watched an indignant procession of
first citizens coming in to “‘stop their papers,”’ each one of
whom had something pleasant to say to the proprietor,
generally in the way of an expression of pained surprise
that so dignified a journal should have been put to such
base uses. The processions of paper-stoppers ne ver did end,
and the paper was sold to another publisher, with a different
sort of a public, in a short time. That city, it seems, was
not ripe at that time for the newer journalism.

The tools with which the yellow editor works are always
the same. The essentials do not vary and are not many in

1umber. First of all is sensational news, real or manu-
factured. That gives the greatest play to fancy and the
greatest opportunity for “freaking.’’ Then come pictures,
rrams With crosses showing where the bloody deed was
done, signed statements, crusades and campaigns for the
dear people, the proletariat, ‘‘the downtrod.”” These are
the basis for the entire game. The variations are infinite,
but, in the last analysis, these items furnish the start.

To give vellow journalists due credit, they are generally
clean—that is, while they are sensational they are not
nasty. They do not allow filth to get into their papers.
They strive to shock and amaze, but they are decent

about it

April 14, 1906

It is an axiom that the more important the person the
more important the news. That is a legitimate proposition.
A king, or a duke, or a duchess, or a millionaire, or a ‘‘so-
ciety leader,’”’ is of more news value than one of the common
people —unless there is a crusade on for the “‘uplifting”’ of
those common people, who, generally, do not want to be
“‘raised.’’ The yellow editor dearly loves a title. He will
print yards of the most trivial gossip about a man with a
coronet. He, also, dotes on ‘‘high society people.’’ Ward
McAllister’s designation of ‘‘the Four Hundred” is respon-
sible for more acres of newspaper slush and guff than any
one other thing.

Money is good. It always adds to the story. It is much
more interesting to read about an ugly heiress than a woman
without a cent to her name, no matter how beautiful she
may be. Then there is the always-available millionaire
He is luscious fruit. You can do anything with him, from
figuring out how many hard-boiled eggs he could buy with
his income to calculating how high his fortune would reach
if it were changed into silver dollars and piled up alongside
the Park Row Building. Twenty years ago a man from
the West went to New York and started a monthly paper
called The American Millionaire. He had been saving his
salary for years to carry out his plan, which was to print
nothing except items and information about millionaires
He failed. The reason was that he was ahead of the times
He had a good yellow idea, but the yellow interest had not
been developed. Millionaires were not so common then,
either, but that is neither here nor there. When the subject
of millionaires got tame for the yellows they could always
construct ‘‘The American Billionaire’? and compare his
fortune to those of the money kings of ancient times.

A murder with a woman in it isgreat. That is what made
the Molineux case, the Kennedy case, the Guldensuppe
case, and, not so very long ago, the Nan Patterson case, like
manna from the skies, to say nothing of the long string of
similar trials since and before the Guldensuppe days
That New Haven affair, so recently exploited in the papers,
had no “ heart interest.” It did not get anywhere, although
some of the editors strove valiantly with it for weeks. A
bloody murder with a woman mysteriously in it made the
yellow editors hit a terrific pace. An elopement was good,
and so was a breach-of-promise case, especially if it con-
tained some fool letters.

There must always be pictures. A story without pictures
is no story at all. Inthe old days there were sketch artists
who made good pictures. Now the sketch artists are forced
behind the photographers. They are used only when no
photographs—real or bogus—are obtainable. Then the
sketch artist draws a picture of the scene or person “froma
telegraphic description.’”” The newspaper photographer is
king. He rushes about with his camera and gets pictures of
everybody and everything. Hecangeta picture in a second
that will make the subject swear at newspapers all the rest
of his life. Newspaper photography has developed a breed
of men without fear and with the most amazing gall of any
class of men employed at any occupation whatsoever
They go anywhere.

Not so long ago a group of them tried to photograph one
of the Vanderbilts. He raised his cane to break a camera
ora head. The photographers got him with the uplifted
stick and a fine scowl on his face. Perhaps they put a few
high lights into the scowl on the plate, but the picture was a
fearsome thing when it was printed and made this partic-
ular Vanderbilt wonder what good his money is to him

(Concluded on Pug

atmpennsanamnstinstuninntl
The Editor of the Rival Paper Cried Because He
Did Not Think of it First

HERE isnomorestrictly
characteristic manu-
facturing centre than
Alabama City. It would be
superfluous to mention on
what railroad this great

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN

Human Documents in the Case of the New Slavery

By Mrs. JOHN VAN VORST So's

“plant” lies, for the trains which
reach it are almost wholly freight
trains that lumber through the vil-
lage at unearthly hours, importing
the raw cotton and transporting
the manufactured product of the
factory, with only occasionally a
passenger ‘“‘local,’’ which bumps
along over the hard worn bed of
the Birmingham, Calera or Gads-
den lines.

Any one who has visited a mill
town knows the deserted aspect of
itsstreets during the daytime. Had
it not been for the roar of the en-
gines which throbbed on as the
pulse continues to beat, in uncon-
sciousness, I might have supposed
Alabama City to bea village whence
all life had suddenly fled. The
only person insight, when | alighted

from the “‘local,’’ was a small, tow- i time just to ‘‘rest up’ from work
headed girl swinging on the gate of | } ym the teacher a list of
a neat little one-story mansion near ldr vho had for some time
the station. | truar purposing to all
Hello!" I called to her; ‘‘aren’t upon the btaining in this wa
you going to school?” easy a their } ‘
She shook her blond head vigor- Having planned (as the surest
ously. way of ‘it entrar to the
‘‘No, meaum.” I to accompany the hands when
‘Why not? It’s time.’ the factory gates were open at
‘“‘My mamma don’t want me to 0, | bought a bag of peanut
go toschool.’’ With this she scam- i it d on the back steps of
pered into the house, eager no doubt th re, Waiting for the noon bell
to recover the presence of so ideal a is iw Bf f to strike and trusting that some
parent. — —— — _ of thechildren might come mv way
Proceeding farther into the vil- A Straggling Procession of Little Girls and Boys with Slates and Books Under Their Arms Presently I saw a little girl such

lage along the railroad ties which

form the principal avenue, I perceived a straggling pro-
cession of little girls and little boys with slates and books
under their arms, swinging along in the direction — doubt-
less —of the school.

Waiting for an introduction in a mill town would be as
hopeless as to wait presentation to one’s vis-A-vis in some
English drawing-rooms. The very rich and the very poor
classes have at least their simplicity incommon. The Eng-
lish grande dame supposes her presence in the midst of her
guests a sufficient introduction; and so it is with the poor
except that the hostess in their case is necessity, need —the
imperative need for making aliving. Nothing else but such
need could explain the presence of a stranger in such a town
as Alabama City. And poverty having invited you thither,
you are welcomed into the fraternity who have already
arrived.

I joined a small girl in a sloppy frock, her hair done up i:
wiry pigtails with no hat to cover them, and, as a finish-
ing touch to her get-up, black stockings, which I took at
first to be polka-dotted, so numerous were the holes scat-
tered over them. She was about sever

“Going to school?’ I asked.

‘Yes, meaum.”’

‘Do you know,” I pursued, walking along with her
‘who lives in those houses?’’ I poi
cottages, the neat and alluring appearance of which led m+
to doubt that they were the houses of the laborers. My
informant nodded toward one of the houses—both of her
arms were full of books—and said

“Victoria Stuart lives in this-a-one.’’ And then, with
the b/asé tone of a woman of the world, she added: ‘* That
uart, but she married a Morgan.”’
nee of family pride in a child of seven recall
the classification of these people as ‘‘animals.’

The mills in this town are among those longest estab-
lished in Alabama. They run sixty thousand spindles and
employ about two thousand hands. The entire village
belongs to the corporation, which lets out the stores, thi
inn-—-kept for the bachelor ‘‘hands’’—-and the laborers’
houses. There is a free library open in the evenings, tw

ted to a row of pretty

churches, a school, a sanitarium, and a large amusement
hall, all built at the company’s expense. Everything, it
would seem, has been done to make the workingman’s lot
a happy one at Alabama City. Yet thousands of the
spindles in the great mill stand idle. Why? Because of
the difficulty in getting help. And why is it so difficult to

Editor's Note—This is the second of the series of articles on child
labor in the South and North

get help? Because the wages paid to ‘‘cotton-mill folks
are so low that they live with no hope of ever bettering
themselves, and their consequent dejected state of mind
keeps them on the go from one place to another, roving
perpetually with the excitement of change as the onl
anodyne for their sufferings. What prisoner would not
if he could, change thus the outlook from his prison’s bar

The school is a bright, cheerful building, with four large
rooms where the different classes are graded as_ best
they can be among children the most of whom know more
about the hard facts of life than they do about a primer of
learning.

Out of the three hundred children whose names are en-
rolled on the schoo! lists there are nearly one hundred
the lowest-grade class; one hundred and fifty of about t}
same age in the next grade, and a mere handful of gir
no boys—-from thirteen to fifteen, in the upper grade

What strikes one first in the little barefoot, ragged
scholars is their shabbiness, their uncout}!

appr irance, al

“Take Me Up, Uncle Arthur, Take Me Up!’

it of liberty uw t
matte f educa n preclud al
questions ¢ re ilaritvy in scho«
att lance In the second clas

rexamp at the mill-school, ou
ot xt tive children between the

ages of seven and eleven, ten had

juit’’ to go into the mills Or ¢

the other hand, there were three or

four tall, languid, duil-eyed pupils
who sat at the back of the room
half-ashamed, half stupefied old
mill-hands, the teacher explained

to me, Who had gone as babies into

tt service of a machine, the
monotonou inflectior of which
had seemingly stunned the intell
me
N hild attend hool more
t il three winter and many ofl

them come in fora month ortwo at

as the picture-books represent Red

Riding-Hood to b The peanuts served as an introduc
tion, and when she had taken a handful and thanked m«
he said

Did you-all ever work in a mill

,
Yes, in a knitting-n

She sank down beside me, leaning back against the post

f the doorsteps. Her face was hardly less white than th
knitted woolen “‘cloud”’ which covered her head. She had
blue eves, and when she smiled she showed a row of sound,
white teeth

I sure am tired enough to sit down,” she sighed

Do you get tired in the mil | asked

I reckon I de We live up on the hill nder, and when
l first started to v t didn't seem night Lever could
t home Now I don't mind it

How long ha ib i rk

What are th } ' }

Abeaout t la !

Twelve

We he reflected, a } h it e thet
had gi n much th ! r he t
t at l-a-pa I it I u p nt
the seeond bell for breakfast: and they don’t give ust
than a few minutes to eat before they begin callin’ u t
twentVv minutes to SIx

And you get out at
Twenty minutes a-past 31x."
With only half an hour for lunch? It’s rather long
I suttinly think it ij

She leaned listlessly against the wooden post, breaki
the shells of the peanuts into her little lap, and eating
as she talked She had on a blue gingham froch i
her chest she had pinned with a needle a narrov t
he wore stockings and shoes in the last stave |
tion. Her blond hair hung in a braid beneath tl
woolen hood

Does your mother chew?” she asked, follo }

question with Lots of the mill folks dip snuff

she pointed to a gaunt figure in a cotton wrapper, d

along the railroad track that’sthe kind that it
sne punctuated this statement wit litt eroltd
There's piles o' little children in the 1
teaun and eleavun years old. Sor f nly do ma

teaun cents a day

Her voice had assumed the communicative tone of a gos-
sipy confidence. ‘‘ You see, the little girl that was in the
cloth room before me kept throwin’ in the threads. The
boss spoke to her twice, and so she said to him: ‘If you don’t
like my work, I reckon I won't stay.’ So then they came
after me.”

Rapidly my mind evoked the images of other children
I know who are eleven—how like an elderly woman she
seemed by comparison with them, this little pale, cheer-
ful laborer, with her sense of justice, her experience, her
importance as a ‘‘ hand,” her resignation to a life of nothing
but toil.

‘*Do you know,” she went on, ‘‘a little boy deown at the
mills told me they wuz goin’ to fix it all over the United
States so’s nobody couldn’t work more’n teaun heours a
day.”’ Her eyes rested a moment on mine, and then she
added: ‘I don't know if it’s true, but I sure do hope
Ch

Chatting, as women do, more freely while they have some-
thing to nibble at, she had lingered as long as the peanuts
lasted. Now she shook the shells from her lap and got up to
go. She seemed willing that I should walk with her, so we
turned up the road which she had found so hard to climb
during the first months of her apprenticeship to toil. As
soon as we reached ‘‘home” she abandoned me to the hos-
pitality of a mother whose arms are occupied with an active
vear-old baby, and she began vigorously to sweep the
floors and porch.

‘*We-all,”’ said the mother, ‘sure do wish Mamie-Bell
would rest some, but it don’t seem like she could.”

Mamie-Bell was the victim, and there are many, not only
of greed, but of the ignorance of parents. Her father and
brothers made enough to support the family, and, indeed,
to put money aside, for the house in which they lived they
had built themselves, and they owned it and the ground on
which it stood.” Though she was dressed in the usual trail-
ing cotton wrapper, and had made apparently no more
serious toilet than the twisting of her limp stray locks into
a tight coil at the back of her head, the mother preserved a
relative neatness; the house was fairly tidy, and obviously
it would have been possible to allow Mamie-Bell to go to
school. But the social obligations of these parents, who
had previously lived always on a farm far from their
fellow-beings, took no more definite form than a vague
regret that Mamie-Bell didn’t ‘‘rest more.”

To be sure, the founders of the mills at Alabama City have
made the village as attractive as possible (given the mon-
otony which any place must present where everybody has
about the same income, and that income very small).
Ihe little one-story houses occupied by the mill families
are built with sloping, irregular roofs, verandas which
are more or less screened by vines the company has
planted. About each home there is a small bit of ground
inclosed with a fence, all of which, together with the fact
that no two of the cottages are just alike, gives a pleasing
aspect to the town. No law obliges such corporations to
pro. ide a schoolhouse and teacher, ora library PM and one's
first impulse is to feel that here, really, is a mill run almost
on philanthropic principles. Ala@bama City is undoubtedly
the most attractive mill town in the South, but the diffi-
culty of procuring operatives and of keeping them is so
great that rt isa good investment to make the surroundings
as alluring as possible, and it is cheaper to offer swimming
pools and amusement halls and lodge rooms than it is to
raise the wages of two thousand laborers.

When the half-past twelve bell rang the diverse avenues
of the little town began to fill with the slow, languid pro-
cession dragging along toward the open mill gates. I joined
a tall, meagre figure whose cotton dress sagged down over

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

shoes that expressed weariness in their irregular, bulging
lines, and, having once penetrated with my companion be-
yond the austere and forbidding walls of the mills, I was
free to make my way into the spinning-room, and to ques-
tion there as many children as I pleased.

Three things struck me most forcibly: the ghastly
appearance of all the hands; the extreme animation and
cheerfulness of the little children; the appalling languor
of the girls and boys who were fifteen and over.

The girl who volunteered ‘‘to show me around” was
typical: she had the natural awkwardness of those whose
muscles have deteriorated because of poor nourishment.
She hitched along, wielding her arms and hands, like so
much dead weight, as best she could. Her little face was
pale to transparency; a smile, indulgent, resigned, lighted
her dim brown eyes, and rested on her faded lips. How old
was she? ‘Most sixteen.’’ And how long had she been at
work? ‘‘Abeaout eight years.”

Down in the ‘‘weave-room”’ my guide was a fair-haired
girl of fourteen, whose apprenticeship at ‘‘spinnin’’’ had
lasted five years. ‘‘It was only when papa died,” she ex-
plained, ‘‘that I had to come to work. Before that I went
to school, and I sure did love it.’’ Then she went on:
‘There's just piles of little ones in here—too little, I think.
When the owner used to come through we used to ‘run out’
those tiniest ones.”

**Run out?” I asked.

‘*Yes; hide ’em in the closets or anywhere, fer fear he’d
stop ’em workin’.”

In the spinning-room of the newer mill there were fewer
small children, but fewer hands also, for here thousands of
spindles stood idle.

With a growing desire to know more of these people who
were “like animals,’’ I set out now for the addresses given
me at the school of children who were habitual truants.
It was a warm November day and the doors of the houses
for the most part stood open on to the verandas. A strong
smell of iodoform was wafted by the breeze outward from
the first interior whither I tried to penetrate. In response
to my repeated knocks, a boy finally made his appearance,
followed by two tiny little girls. Across his temple there
was a scar, deep and angry-looking, with flashes of scarlet
where the surgeon's stitches had gone into the torn sur-
faces. Enveloped with bandages his hand lay in a sling
whence protruded only the fingers, swollen and blanched
with unwonted idleness.

**Got hurt at the mills?” I asked.

“No, meaum,” he said. ‘‘I got to fightin’ with a fello’ and
he drew a knife on me.”

He drawled his words; they seemed to dribble slowly,
without intelligence, from his mouth, like the tobacco juice
which spilled over his lips when he spoke.

Immediately I concluded: a drunkard’s quarrel, of
course.

‘Why doesn’t your little sister go to school?’’ I asked.

‘*Wal, she’s ben agoin’ to the mill sence I was struck.
That's three weeks. We'll send her back to school as soon
as I kin quit loafin’. There’s seven of us, you see io
He laid his free hand on the little head of the youngest
child by his side. There was something gentle in the touch,
and the baby, lifting her face toward him, rubbed, con-
tentedly, against hisarm. Perhaps he wasn't a drunkard,
after all

‘You've been out of work three weeks?” I repeated.

‘*Yes, meaum. I had thirteen stitches in my wrist and
head.”’

‘How did you get to fighting?”

He shifted from one foot to the other, emptied his
mouth in a long, black trail which glistened on the wooden

floor, and began in his
nasal monotone:

— “My sisters went
deown to a party here,
an’ papa feound eout
‘twas goin’ to beadancin’
party,and he deon't
alleow my sisters to
dance, so he went deown
an’ took 'em away, an’
this fello’ was right pro-
voked, an’ he did some
smart talkin’ abeaout my
father, an’ I won't stand
that, so I tol’ him real
sharp to min’ his busi-
ness, and then we got to
fightin’.”’

His face was as impla-
cable as a mask. How
easy to have dismissed
him at a glance as inca-
pable of human feeling!
How tempting to classify
him, from his appear-
ance, as one of those
whom it is ‘‘ useless try-

Any One Who has Visited a Mill Town Knows the Deserted Aspect of its Streets During the Daytime

—_ ingtohelp!’”” Whocould
have supposed that this

April 14, 1906

formless hulk was moved by
a spirit fine enough to place
his personal safety beneath
the family honor? Dressed
in lank black clothes which
served for Sundays, funerals,
convalescences, and all such
things as mean ‘‘a day off”
from work, he looked like a
dejected tramp, yet he had
achivalrous desire to protect
his sisters; he had an in-
stinctive respect for his
father’s will, and he had the
fine fibre of loyalty which an
affront to those we love
stings into the imperative
demand for justice at the
sacrifice, if necessary, of life
itself.

At the next house where I
inquired for a truant I found
a barefoot man warming
himself by the open fire pre-
paratory to going on duty
at six, as night watchman.
In the room where he sat
there were two beds; one
was occupied by a child in
the unconscious stages of
‘the fever.’’ Watching with
her was a neighbor, who had
come in to take the mother’s place while she worked at
the mill.

“You see,” the neighbor explained to me, ‘‘this here
child’s ben abed six weeks.’’ She lifted the dingy spread
and uncovered the little sufferer’s face. ‘* When she-all gets
better, Doshia can begin lessons again, I reckon. Neow we
need her to help reound the heouse.”’

My visits continued to reveal a variety of interiors, but
one fact remained the same in almost every case I investi-
gated: back of the absence of the little truant there was
some misfortune —sickness, death, or an accident — which
caused her to be taken from school in order temporarily to
go to work or to share the responsibilities of running the
house or acting as nurse. One mother was keeping her boy
out because he had no shoes. (The company is willing to
provide for children who want to go to school and who have
no money to buy books and shoes; but the mill-hands are
proud and reluctant to declare their poverty before others.)
One other practical parent had sent her girl of eleven into
the mill to earn her own Christmas money. One or two
very wild youths of about ten had taken their careers into
their own management and given up school because it set
too much restraint upon their liberty —but such cases were
comparatively uncommon. Shiftlessness, actual need,
illness and misfortune are the principal causes which keep
down the mill school attendance. What an opportunity is
there here for a visiting nurse such as the district nurses of
Miss Wald’s admirable settlement in New York, who go
from house to house, giving proper care to the sick, offering
encouragement to overworked, ignorant mothers, and in-
structing them in thesimple rules of hygiene and cleanliness!

The last address on my list took me out along the track
whose iron rails form the only paving of the central thor-
oughfare. I had knocked for some time at doors and blinds,
which echoed, in response, only the emptiness of a deserted
house, and I was about turning away when a kindly voice
called from a neighboring window:

‘‘They-all ain't home. Won't you come over and rest?”

I yielded to this hospitable request and, as I crossed the
yard, caught sight of a boy standing near the fence: the
sunlight fell aslant the mat of blond hair with which his
head was crowned, and there was something golden, too, in
the ghastly pallor of hisface. His legs and arms protruded,
bare and lank, from clothes long since outgrown, and his
whole attitude expressed such physical exhaustion that
instinctively I exclaimed to the woman who waited at the
doorstep:

“Is that your boy?

Perhaps she detected something more than curiosity in
my tone, for she answered:

‘‘Yes, meaum. He's been a-sleepin’. He's on fer night-
work neow.”’

Through the kitchen, which was scrupulously neat, she
led me into a darkened room in the semi-obscurity of which
I could perceive a bed in disorder, the sheets thrown back,
the mattress airing during this moment of idleness between
the rising of the night-hand and the coming to rest of the
day laborer.

‘*Yes, meaum,”’ the mother resumed, apologizing for the
confusion of the room, and offering me a chair by the
fire; ‘‘Arthur’s took to the night-work deown’t the steel
works. He sure does make more. He gets to bed abeaout
seavun, he’s up and reound by two, loafin’ till five, and then
he walks over to the mills, abeout a mile.”’

She had on a neat cotton dress, and an apron over her
skirt; her hair, already streaked with gray, was carefully

With the Blasé Tone of a
Woman of the World

”

arranged; her small blue eyes looked out from a surround-
ing network of fine wrinkles which added to the resignation
of their appealing expression.

There were two babies, the oldest searcely able to walk,
playing about the floor.

“They’re my daughter's children,” she explained. ‘I'm
mindin’ ’em while she’s ’twork deown’t the mill. Arthur's
comin’ to dinner neow,”’ she went on, as a sound in the
kitchen announced his return. And during the short five
minutes which it took Arthur to dispatch the meal prepared
for him, the mother, in answer to my inquiries, told me
their story. Thirteen years before, her husband, a sheriff,
had been shot dead in the attempt to separate two drunken
disputants. Left thus a widow, with no means of support,
she had sent her two children into the cotton mill. With
the eighty cents a day they brought to her she had fed
and clothed both them and herself: about twenty dollars a
month; it was this pittance, furnished by tiny hands, which
for years had kept together that home. When the daughter
married she continued to work as a mill-hand, and her earn-
ings were contributed to aid in the support of her own home
and children.

Arthur was thus left alone to provide for himself and
his mother.

With some reluctance, having finished his dinner, the
boy now joined us as we sat by the fire ‘ He was
‘‘ashamed,” his mother protested, not to be dressed, though
he might indeed have been proud, for his miserable clothes
only offset his bearing, which reflected the dignity that pre-
vails where courage and fortitude persist side by side with
misery. Scarcely had he sat down when a tiny voice at
his side begged

‘Take me up, Uncle Arthur, take me up

It was the oldest of the children. He lifted her on to his
knees and clasped his brawny, toil-worn arms about her,
while she nestled against him, content. And, as the mother
murmured shyly: ‘‘He’s got that baby right spoiled with
pettin’,”” Arthur began to talk, in broken sentences, about
his work, his life, his ambitions.

The

XXI—THE FLIGHT B Y

HE full sunlight streamed

into the room when Betty,

her packing done, drew
back the curtain She looked out on the glazed roof of
the laundry , the lead roof of the office, the blank wall of the
new grocery establishment in the Rue de Rennes. Only a
little blue sky showed at the end of the lane, between
roofs, by which the sun came in. Not a tree, not an inch
of grass in sight ; only, in her room, half a dozen roses
that Temple had left for her, and the white Marguerite
plant —tall, sturdy, a little tree almost —that Vernon had
sent in from the florist’s next door but two. Everything
was packed. She would say good-by to Madame Bianchi;
ard she would go, and leave no address, as she had
promised last night.

a hy did you promise ?”’ she asked herself And herself
re plied:

‘**Don't you bother. We'll talk about all that when we've
got away from Paris. He was quite right. You can't
think here.”

“You'd better tell the cabman some other station. That
cat of a concierge is sure to be listening.”

“Ah, right. / don’t want to give him any chance of find-
ing me, even if he did say he wanted to marry me.”’

A fleet, lovely picture of herself in bridal smart traveling
clothes arriving at the rectory on Vernon's arm: ‘‘ Aren't
you sorry you misjudged him so, father?’’ Gentle accents
refraining fromreproach. A very pretty picture. Dismissed

Now the carriage swaying under the mound of Betty's
luggage starts for the Gare du Nord. In the Rue Notre
Dame des Champs Betty opens her mouth to say: ‘‘Gare
de Lyons.”” No: thisis his street. Better cross it as quickly
as may be. At the Church of St. Germain— yes.

The coachman smiles at the new order, whips up his
horse and swings around to the left along the prettiest
of all the boulevards, between the full-leafed trees. Past
Thirion’s. Ah!

That thought, or pang, or nausea— Betty doesn’t quite
know what it is—keeps her eyes from the streets till the
carriage is crossing the river. Why —there is Notre Dame!
It ought to be miles away. Suppose Vernon should have
been leaning out of his window when she passed across his
street, seen her, divined her destination, followed her in
the fleetest carriage accessible? The vision of a meeting
at the station:

“Why are you going away? What have I done?” The
secret of this, her great renunciation —the whole life’s sacri-
fice to that life’s idol —honor, wrung from her. A hand that
would hold hers—under pretense of taking her bundle of

Visiting.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

Hespoke very slowly, as one who knows from long far

}

iarity all the limitations that make well-nig]

whatever he would undertake. Foralmost ten years he had
drawn his fifty or sixty cents a day from the cotton 1
Then the steel works had been set up just outside of Ala
bama City, and some one had brought the news that he
could earn seventy-five cents a night, and work Sunday
nights as well as week nights. . . . Hands wer
scarce, in fact, that he could be at his job day and night
when his strength allowed —

‘*We-all can't stop him,” the mother said, in her tit

gentle voice. ‘He never quit workin’ from Sat’day night
tell Monday mornin’, and he started in Tuesday agean and
worked tell Wednesday evenin’. It's mostly an outd

job, too, so’s’t keeps him with a real smart cold on |
chest.”’
“This is not right!"’ I exclaimed, appealing to the boy
You cannot go on in this way; you are only fifteen years
old.”

Stronger Than Argument

| IS eyes met mine witha glance that made me feel h«
much stronger was his own determination than at

argument I could use.

‘I’m makin’ twenty-two dollars a month deown't th

teel work

You see,”” the mother put in. ‘‘he ¢ ¢ me twelve a
nonth for his board an’ mine an’ the rent

He's never been to school?”’ I asked

No, meat S never had no time he been at work

now for abeaout ten year

It was through a mist glistening before my eves that |
looked again at Arthur. The baby had fallen asleep on hi
breast, and he sat in the red coals that
glowed on the heart}! of the room the

} er he shadows that played around th
r ‘ e, bow r the ird that lay in it
a
| } ‘ wly
| ' t t t and writ
\ 1 } wh vere |] ath, he ed
} I ‘ | } . f
l ‘ I ike al " ar, th l " l
i ‘ ’
} \ ‘ } ha ‘ i py h
y } " i} 1} a } he qu work
‘ ‘ ind t He had
neve i i book } hat r crat« a line is |
mot} he had |} no contact with that outside
\ { , , ’ hich the re of
He } j t { ea be r lawn, and pire i
+} i machine f } ol the da he
ha nt } ec} } as a borer, a bread-winner who
land st ‘ f f,t foranother
ha } } r with
l } t t T r ‘ irnge
Ar } | i ( what
f ( i ‘ i i r ‘ ining’
r ‘ } ea nehedt ‘Kin
} ' re i } { Va | hefore hit
ex t hen } } 1 t hed the pillow
LT} } ch } ht the gr i
t ! t i T H I I hi lank
in body gave ¢ tT f what he wa
nv through Sut who could 7 hit nthe Way and not
be better for it, who could take his hand and not be uplifted
by th ron clasp which, in suffering untold, had clung fast
t he real thir of lite
I} is the rt we can point t th pride when asked
Where are tl real Americar Phere not another
( int! n th t } } in] hi tal: that
Do i I i ‘ i la ire! greed
He iIsasSa I the lac hat! ’ an rob the

omplete Amorist

rugs to carry She wished the outermost rug were Ik
shabby
Vernon's voice
But Lean’tlet vougo. Why ruintwolive nay, three
For it is you only that I

Dismissed,

It is very hot. Paris is the hottest place in the world
Betty is glad she brought lavender-water her bag
Wishes she had put on her other hat. This brown on

“You See Her, Ma Belle et Bonne,’’
Chuckled the Old Woman

NE S BL Tomcertiesigevomne

! und les, if Vernon we
" 1) 1
I ha ‘ before made
a railwa irne lone lr} i n feeling
Sup} ‘ ! ha to pa I | Ww
rangle a iband he | heard a

ctrol Is lavender-water And hat in they
a to i for Ver I i} e thing And
if he were into th } | vearing that

1 ! rougl If i ! Pana i hat \

coat. Wh lidn't brides cor t their bridegrooms before
they | ght their \ hould get your gown
to rhyme wit! our isband i A dream of a dre

that ild be, with all the shade f Mada Abel cun-
ningly blended A honey lasts at least a month
The t \ 1 i be out t Long Barton b the time
they walked up that moss-grown drive, and stood at the
rectory door, and she murmured in the ear of the Reverend
Cecil Are 1 rr

Disn ed And perforce, f the station is reached

Betty, eve he | hat ith t attract
ive f he por y | f j he t attractabl
H] } ht he spoke | } il nou tt Vas not so
vet he Tt | Dl t ! Bre t ‘ ind his en
ri wit ! ive t } rds q ‘ t rit of one
mot her-tongue

He made everything easy for Betty, found her a carriag

} ‘ pa l« ‘ here if I iid the Bett
+} | 1] unved he ill ich neat]
’ ee t her ft “ e Die hough t had
I i ‘ nal ivenir, and ran half the length
of the rm t et a rose fre anoth porter’s buttor
! He | lit to her through the cart e wind

V All t he smiled
al " ‘

She settled herself in the far corner and took off her hat
rhe carriag hot as ar her With her teeth she
dre the cork of the lavender iter bottle nd with her
handkerchief dabbed the perfume on forehead and ear

Ah, Mademoisell M tl voice came
through the open window beside her A train full of ing
oldiers was beside her train, and in the ndow opposite
hers three boys’ faces crow 1 to look at her hree hand
held out three handkerchiefs—not very white, certainly,
but

Bet smiling ré ‘ he | it the t tt I ly ire ila er
de water on each outheld handkercl I

1 } ‘ aid on

6 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

‘We shall think of the beauty of an angel of Mademoi-
selle every time we smell the perfume so delicious,” said
the second

And longer than that —oh, longer than that by all a
life!’ eried the third.

The train started. The honest, smiling boy faces dis-
appeared. Instinetively she put her head out of the win-
dow to look back at them. All three threw kisses to her.

I ought to be offended,” said Betty, and instantly
kissed her hand in return.

** How nice French people are !
on the hot cushions.

And now there was leisure to think —real thoughts, not
those broken, harassing dreamings that had buzzed about
her between 57 Boulevard Montparnasse and the station
Also, as some one had suggested, one could cry.

She leaned back, eyes shut. Her next thought was:

“T have been asleep.”

She had. The train was moving out of astation labeled
Fontainebleau

** And oh, the trees!"’ said Betty, ‘‘the green, thick trees!
And the sky! You can see the sky.”’

Through the carriage window she drank delight from the
far grandeur of green distances, the intimate beauty of
green rides, green vistas—a thirsty lover madness from
the warm lips of his mistress.

“Oh, how good! How green and good!” she told herself
over and over again, till the words made a song with the
rhythm of the blundering train and the humming metals.

‘**Bourron!”’

Her station: little, quiet, sunlit, like the station at Long
Barton; a flaming broom bush and the white of May and
acacia blossom beyond prim palings; no platform—a long
leap to the dusty earth. The train went on, and Betty and
her boxes seemed dropped suddenly at the world’s end.

The air was fresh and still. A chestnut tree reared its
white blossoms like the candles on a Christmas tree for
giant children. The white dust of the platform sparkled
like diamond dust. May trees and laburnums shone like
silver and gold. And the sun was warm and the tree-
shadows black on the grass. And Betty loved it all.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, *

’ she said as she sank back

it’s a year ago to-day since I
met hin in the warren.”

A shadow caressed and stung her. She would have liked
it to wear the mask of love foregone—to have breathed
plaintive ly of ws defeated and a broken heart. Instead
it showed the candid face of a real homesickness, and it
poke with convincing and abominably aggravating plain-
nes of Long Barton.

The little hooded diligence was waiting in the hot, white
dust outside the station.

Sut yes. It is ] who transport all the guests of Madame
Chevillon,” said the smiling, brown-haired, bonnetless
woman who held the reins.

Betty climbed up beside her.

Along a straight road that tall ranks of trees guarded but
did not shade, through the patchwork neatness of the little
culture that makes the deep difference between peasant
Franee and pastoral England, down a steep hill into a little
white town, where vines grew out of the verv street to cling
against the faces of the houses and wistaria hung its mauve
pendants from every arch and lintel.

The Hotel Chevillon is a white-faced house, with little
unintelligent eyes of windows, burnt blind, it seems, in the
sun —neat with the neatness of Provincial France.

Out shuffled an old peasant woman in short skirt, heavy
shoes and big apron, her arms bare, a saucepan in one
hand, a ladle in the other. She beamed at Betty.

I wish to see Madame Chevillon.”

** You see her, ma belle ef bonne,”’ chuckled the old woman
‘It is me, Madame Chevillon. You will rooms, is it not
You are artist? All who come to the hotel are artist.

Rooms? Marie shall show you the rooms, at the instant
even All the rooms except one that is the room of the
English artist all that there is of most amiable, but quite
mad. He wears no hat, and his brains boil in the sun.

Mademoiselle can chat with him: it will prevent that she
bores herself here in the forest.”

Betty disliked the picture,

‘I think perhaps,” she said, translating mentally as
she spoke, ‘‘that I should do better to go to another hotel,
if there is only one man here and he is ei

She saw days made tiresome by the dodging of a lunatic

nights made tremulous by a lunatic’s yelling soliloquies.

“Ah,” said Madame Chevillon comfortably, ‘‘I thought
Mademoiselle was artist; and for the artists and the
Spaniards the « enanées exist not. But Mademoiselle is
a

also Engl . The V eat the convenances eve r\ day with the
soup. Seethen, my cherished. The Englishman, he is not
a dangerous fool, only a beast of the good God; he has the
atelier and the room at the end of the corridor. But there
is, besides the hotel, the garden pavilion, an apartment of
two rooms, exquisite, on the first, and the garden room that
opens big upon the terrace. It is there that Mademoiselle
will be well!”

Betty thought so, too, when she had seen the ‘‘rooms,
exquisite, on the first’’— neat, bare, well-scrubbed rooms
with red-tiled floors, scanty rugs and Frenchly varnished

“| Ought to be Offended,” said Betty

furniture —the garden room, too, with big open hearth and
ne furniture but wicker chairs and tables.

‘*Mademoiselle can eat ali alone on the terrace. The
English man shall not approach. I will charge myself with
that. Mademoiselle may repose herself here as on the bosom
of the mother of Mademoiselle.”

Betty had her déjeuner on the little stone terrace with
rickety rustic railings. Below lay the garden, thick with
trees. Away among the trees to the left anarbor. Shesaw
through the leaves the milk-white gleam of flannels, heard
the chink of china and cutlery. There, no doubt, the mad
Englishman was even now breakfasting. There was the
width of the garden between them. She sat still till the
flannel gleam had gone away among the trees. Then she
went out and explored the little town.

Lying in a long chair reading one of her Tauchnitz books
Jetty felt very much at home, indeed.

The long afternoon wore on. The trees of the garden
crowded around Betty with soft whispers in a language not
known to the trees on the boulevards.

“Tam very, very unhappy,” said Betty with a deep sigh
of delight.

She went in, unpacked, arranged everything neatly.
She always arranged everything neatly, but nothing ever
would stay arranged. She wrote to her father, explaining
that Madame Gautier had brought her and the other girls
to Grez for the summer.

“I shall be very, very unhappy to-morrow,” said Betty
that night, laying her face against the coarse, cool linen of
her pillow; ‘‘to-day I have been stunned——-I haven't been
able to feel anything. But to-morrow!”’

To-morrow, she knew, would be golden and green even
as to-day. But she should not care. She did not want to
be happy. How could she be happy now that she had of
her own free will put away the love of her life? She
called and beckoned to all the thoughts that the green
world shut out, and they came to her call, fluttering black
wings to hide the sights and sounds of field and wood and
green garden, and making their nest in her heart. ‘‘ Yes,”
she said, turning the hot, rough pillow, ‘‘now it begins to
hurt again. I knew it would.”

She wondered where Vernon was. It was quite early.
Not eleven. Lady St. Craye had called that quite early.

**He’s with her, of course,”’ said Betty; ‘‘sitting at her
feet, no doubt, and looking up at her hateful eyes, and
holding her horrid hand, and forgetting that he ever knew
a girl named Me.”

Betty dressed and went out.

She crossed the garden. It was very dark among the
trees. It would be lighter in the road.

The big yard door was ajar. She pushed it softly. It
creaked and let her through into the silent street. There
were no lights in the hotel, no lights in any of the houses.

She stood a moment, hesitating. A door creaked inside
the hotel. She took the road to the river.

“*T wonder if people ever do drown themselves for love,”
said Betty; ‘‘he’d be sorry then.”

XX THE LUNATIC

HE night kept its promise. Betty, slipping from the
sleeping house into the quiet darkness, seemed to slip
into a poppy-fringed pool of oblivion. The night laid
fresh, cold hands on her tired eyes, and shut out many
things. She paused for a minute on the bridge to listen
to the restful, restless whisper of the water against the

April 14, 1906

rough stone. She walked on. Her eyes growing used to
the darkness discerned the white ribbon of road unrolling
before her. The trees were growing thicker. This must
be the forest. Certainly it was the forest.

‘* How dark it is,” she said; ‘‘how dear and dark! And
how still! I suppose the trams are running just the same
along the Boulevard Montparnasse—and all the lights
and people, and the noise. And I’ve been there all these
months—and all the time this was here—this!”’

Paris was going on —all that muddle and maze of worried
people. And she was out of it all; here, alone.

Alone? A quick terror struck at the heart of her con-
tent. An abrupt, horrible certainty froze her —the certainty
that she was not alone. There was some living thing
besides herself in the forest, quite near her—something
other than the deer and the squirrels and the quiet, dainty
woodland people. She felt it in every fibre long before she
heard that faint, light sound that was not one of the forest
noises. She stood still and listened.

She had never been frightened of the dark—of the
outdoor dark. At Long Barton she had never been
afraid even to go past the churchyard in the dark night
the free night that had never held any terrors, only dreams.

But now: she quickened her pace, and—yes— footsteps
came on behind her. And in front the long, straight ribbon
of the road unwound, gray now in the shadow. There
seemed to be no road turning to right or left. She could
not go on forever. She would have to turn, sometime —if
not now, yet sometime, in this black darkness, and then
she would meet this thing that trod so softly behind her.

Before she knew that she had ceased to walk she was
crouched in the black between two bushes. She had
leaped as the deer leaps, and crouched, still as any deer.

Her dark-blue linen gown was one with the forest
shadows. She breathed noiselessly —her eyes were turned
to the gray ribbon of road that had been behind her. She
had heard. Now she would see.

She did see—something white and tall and straight.
Oh, the relief of the tallness and straightness and whiteness!
She had thought of something dwarfed and clumsy — dark,
misshapen, slouching beast-like on two shapeless feet.
Why were people afraid of tall white ghosts?

It passed. It was a man—in a white suit. Just an
ordinary man. No, not ordinary. The ordinary man
in France does not wear white. Nor in England, except
for boating and tennis and——

Flannels. Yes. The lunatic who boiled his brains in
the sun!

Betty’s terror changed color as the wave changes
from green to white, but it lost not even so much of its
force as the wave loses by the change. It held her move-
less till the soft step of the tennis shoes died away. Then
softly and hardly moving at all, moving so little that not
a leaf of those friendly bushes rustled, she slipped off her
shoes: took them in her hand, made one leap through the
crackling, protesting undergrowth and fled back along the
road, fleet as a greyhound.

She ran and she walked, very fast, and then she ran
again, and never once did she pause to look or listen. If
the lunatic caught her—well, he would catch her, but it
should not be jer fault if he did.

The trees were thinner. Ahead she saw glimpses of a
world that looked quite light, and the bridge ahead. With
one last spurt she ran across it, tore up the little bit of
street, slipped through the door, and between the garden
trees to her pavilion.

She looked very carefully in every corner—all was still
andempty. She locked her door, and fell face downward
on her bed.

Vernon in his studio was ‘‘thinking things over” after
the advice of Miss Voscoe, in much the same attitude.

“Oh,” said Betty, ‘‘I will never go out at night again!
And I will leave this horrible, horrible place the very first
thing to-morrow morning!”’

But to-morrow morning touched the night's events with
new colors from its shining palette.

“* After all, even a lunatic has a right to walk out in the
forest if it wants to,’’ she told herself; ‘‘and it didn’t
know I was there, I expect, really. But I think I'll go and
Stay at some other hotel.”

She asked, when her ‘‘complete coffee’? came to her,
what the mad gentleman did all day.

“He is not so stupid as Mademoiselle supposes,’’ said
Marie. ‘‘All the artists are insane, and he is only a
little"more insane than the others. He is not a real mad,
all the same, see you. To-day he makes drawings at
Montigny.”

“Which way is Montigny?” asked Betty. And, learn-
ing, strolled, when her coffee was finished, by what looked
like the other way.

It took her to the river.

‘It’s like the Medway,” said Betty, stooping to the fat
cowslips at her feet, ‘‘only prettier; and I never saw any
cowslips there. You dears!”’

Betty would not look at her sorrow in this gay, glad
world. But she knew at last what her sorrow’s name was.
She saw now that it was love that had stood all the winter
between her and Vernon, holding a hand of each. In her

blindness she had called it friendship— but now she knew
its real, royal name.

She felt that her heart was broken. Even the fact that
her grief was a thing to be indulged or denied at will brought
her no doubts. She had always wanted to be brave and
noble. Well, now she was being both

A turn of the river brought to sight a wid
with green islands, each a tiny forest of
young alders. There was a boat moored under
a great clumsy boat, but it had sculls in it. It
pleasant to go out to the islands.

reach dotted
willow saplings and
an aspen,
would be

She got into the boat, loosened the heavy rattling
chain and flung it on board, took up the sculls and

began to pull. It was easy work.

‘I didn’t know I was such a good oar,” said Betty as
the boat crept swiftly down the river.

As she stepped into the boat she noticed the long
river-reeds straining down stream like the green hair of
hidden water-nixies.

She would land at the big island—the boat steered
easily and lightly enough for all its size—but before she
could ship her oars and grasp at a willow root she shot
past the island.

Then she remembered the streaming green weeds.

‘Why, there must be a frightful current!’ she said.

What could make the river run at this pace—a weir
or a waterfall?

She turned the boat’s nose up stream
and pulled. Ah, this was work! Then a—
her eyes, fixed in the exertion of pulling,
found that they saw no moving banks,
but just one picture: a willow, a clump
of irises, three poplars in the distance
and the foreground of the picture did not
move. All her pulling only sufficed to
keep the boat from going with the stream.
And now, as the effort relaxed a little it
did not even do this. The foreground
did move—the wrong way. The boat was
slipping slowly downstream. She turned |
and made for the bank, but the stream
caught her broadside on, whirled the
boat around and swept it calmly and
gently down—toward the weir—or the
waterfall.

Betty pulled two strong strokes, driv-
ing the boat’s nose straight for the nearest
island, shipped the sculls with a jerk,
stumbled forward and caught at an alder |

stump. She flung the chain around it
and made fast. The boat’s stern swung
round—it was thrust in under the bank
and held there; the chain clicked loudly
as it stretched taut.

“Well!” said Betty. The island was
between her and the riverside path. No
one would be able to see her. She must
listen and call out when she heard any
one pass. Then they would get another
boat and come and fetch her away. She
would not tempt Fate again alone in that
boat. She was not going to be drowned
in any silly French river.

She landed, pushed through the sap-
lings, found a mossy willow stump and
sat down to get her breath.

It was very hot on the island. It
smelt damply of wet lily leaves and iris
roots and mud. Flies buzzed and wor-

ried. The time was very long. And no
one came by.

‘*] may have to spend the day here,”
she told herself. ‘‘It’s not so safe in the
boat, but it’s not so fly-y, either.”

And still no one passed.

Suddenly the soft whistling of a tune
came through the hot air. A tune she had learned in Paris!
“C'lait deux a ”

“*Hi!”’ cried Betty in a voice that was not at all like her
voice. ‘‘Help! Au secours!’’ she added on second thoughts.

‘‘Where are you?’ came a voice. How alike all English-
men’s voices seemed -— in a foreign land!

‘‘Here—on the island! Send some one out with a boat,
will you? I can’t work my boat a bit.”

Through the twittering leaves she saw something white
waving. Next momenta bigsplash. She could see, through
a little gap, a whrte blazer thrown down on the bank—a
pair of sprawling brown boots; in the water a sleek, wet,
round head, an arm in a blue shirt-sleeve swimming a strong
side stroke. It was the lunatic: of course it was. And she
had called to him, and he was coming. She pushed back

mant

to the boat, leaped in, and was fumbling with the chain
when she heard the splash and the crack of broken twigs
that marked the lunatic’s handing.

She would rather chance the weir or the waterfall than
be alone on that island with a maniac.
stretched straight and stiff as a lance
twist it.

But the chain was
she could not un-
She was still struggling, with pink fingers bruised

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

and rust-stained, when something heavy crashed through
the saplings and a voice cried close to }

he}
1 doing And a hand fe

“Drop it! What are you ll on
the chain.

Betty, at bay, raised her head Luna he Knew
could be quelled by the cal gaze of the human eve

She gave one look, and held out both hands witha ou
or

Oh t's > 2 S« ad! Where did 1 ‘
from? Oh, how wet tees

Then she sat down on the thwart and said no m«
cause of the choking feeling in her throat that told her
exactly just how frightened she had bee

You!’’ Temple was sayir er W H ‘
earth Where are you staying W here ( r pa

He wa squet ng the water out of OVE ind t Ast
legs

] haven't g ij il i eatal t

tlikea man. I} A u're i hock« \
always are.”’

‘*Where are you staying?" he asked, drawing the chai
in hand over hand, till a loose loop of it dipped in the wat

** Hotel Chevillon. How dripping you ire!

Phen Wa é

‘Hotel Chevillon! Never!
‘What was me .

“That | was sheep-dog to, last night in the fore

‘
*

“You!” Temple was Saying Very Slowly How on Earth Where

Then it was And | thought it was the lunatic
Oh, if I’'donly known! But why did you come after me f
you didn’t know it me?”

Temple blushed through the runnels of water that
trickled from his hair.

‘l1—well, Madame told me there was an Eng h ri
staying at the hotel—and I heard some one go out —and |

looked out of the window and I thought it was the girl
I just — well, if anyvthi
or an) thing l
there, don't vou know

‘*That's very, very
— ’* She told him about the

“Oh, that’s me!” said Temple
trait, especially about the hat.”

He had loosened the chain and was pulling with strong,
even strokes across the river toward the where his
coat lay.

‘*We’'ll land here if vou don’t mind.”

‘*Can’t you pull up to the place where I stole the boat?”

He laughed.

“The man’s not living who could pull against this

gy had gone wrong

Was JUSt as we ll there hould be some

aid Bett) But oh!
unatk
1 recognize the por-

nice of voi

bank

stream

when the mill
H glad I an
inot toi ‘
]
I ca
H
‘
\
) hat ‘
or aya
vher ee a
ike tt
ay i, Ma
Here
He ta vith tf
, he he one
I ikea
( e of
‘ e «

Mor r Wh
could be lone
Oh, be quit

T eit so reso

1. My head fee
Vernor r

ed, leant t

that long afterno
How

from here

Ye , she sa

easier for you if
bringing me rose
lings these are!

whiteness of the

pale yo

ng ar ne we s e-yates are open
hat I—a how plucky and splendid of
ea to hang on! li take
i B a hey landed
' ( il i I
‘ i ud et me remind
hath har 22) j i to
hild,”’ said Madame Chevillon, ‘‘and
roach the Me« wart ne, that l may
ele e at the t il
arn i Mar five minutes later
i he es, al the mad with her
i ! Nd | carrie his coat, and
. , . hat
‘ 1 Madame Give
t he | nm ar ill mad the
er t eve ! t eat, my child
XNX/11--TEMPERATURES
f ew he of girl who can't
herself,’ said Lady St. Crave to the Inward
M I i ny ndiscreet
‘ pla her ear I've really
aone hera od rnt ending her to
(ire Ne t tne least com-
| ! ng iora gt ‘ ay at the same
} | Ar eside here are lots of
1 e there, I expect She'll

i a ase ntful ti ind gett KnOW
hat Temple | rea well. I'm sure
ne repa ‘ pati If I weren't
a be ted fool I could have pursued
hose researches myself But it’s not
! h having that one wants

hat <« Ye

LT} it

Pa vas growing intolerabl But
{ ‘ a thousand reasor Lady
S Crave would alread have left it
rt paveme vere red-hot When
( a ( { Nia through an air like

e breath from the open mouth of a

She kept much within doors, filled her
rooms With roses, and lived with every

ndow oper Her balcony, too, wa
full of flower and the striped sun
blinds beyond each open window kept
the rooms in pleasant shadow.

But IPPose omething happens to
her all ilone there, aid the Inward
Monitor

Nothing will St not that sort
of girl Her headache had been grow
ing worse these three da The Inward
Monitor might have had pity, remember
ing that—but no

You told Him that all girls were
the same rt of girl iid the pitile

l did mea tha ‘ I up
pose oud | ‘ write that

i re her to the
bose of |} fu famil I've
ne the girl a good tur for what
he did for ‘ he a good little
th ( 1 i hit even if I
did i} n te and Templ her
‘ ite I der if he found
‘ ‘ He have | now!
hr } ame} el
‘ I ime hotel rhe ver
‘ ef had } edt raps a coupk
‘ ‘ Montigr A couple of mil
\ a t i iV, a you choose
wa l in trick aid the Inward
ne ive | ! { voa i where she
and ‘ ,
| i Lady St. Craye “T never knew
e before I think I must be going to be
l © al ‘ la omelette

r in much later found her with eye

she had lain all

i ought to get

id. ‘“‘I suppose I ought It would be
you hadn't the awful responsibility of
every other da What beaut y-dar
She dippe d her face in the fresh, pure
ones he had laid on her knee Their

/ j

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

April 14, 1906

THE BACK OF THE THRONE

GREAT, uniform feeling of sore-
ness extended over the Nation’s
Capital. The Senate had amazed

verybody by passing the House bill to
prohibit the manufacture and sale of liquor
nthe Territories. The measure had been
ntroduced in the lower chamber for in-
1ocent purposes of political buncombe. Unbeknown to
any, the national atmosphere had been full of electricity.
Bishop John Wesley Somersby, of Illiana, and Lydia Anne
Hinkley, at present of Washington, had touched it off by
their cyclonic campaign in favor of the prohibition bill.
For a moment it looked as though the whole nation was
‘oaring for this bill. The House couldn't pass it fast
enough. The Senate, long nervously aware that every
third elector had a brick. in his pocket for it, and not deeply
nterested in the bibulous habits of the Territories, bowed
o the popular will -—-foronce. The electrical storm having
expended itself, the press was now scoffing at this unex-
ampled spasm of Congressional virtue. The astounded
Territories were shouting for help. The President, who
must now either approve the spasm or take upon his
devoted head the wrath of its advocates by vetoing it, was
purple with indignation from morning until night. Only
Adelbert P. Merchant was quite serene. His matchless
proficiency had enabled him to carry water on both
shoulders even in a whisky fight. Thus the senior Senator
from Illiana left his committee-room bland and smiling.

The Senator's unrivaled feat in equilibration had im-
posed some hardships upon his staff, however. The private
xecretary was glad the day's work was done, for he was
ired. The stenographer was too tired even to be glad.

The Fat Man's Shrewd Glance was Steadily Taking
Stock of His Host

He had been up until two that morning and was half
asleep as he finished the day's grist. The last run of the
mill, completed just before Senator Merchant's departure,
consisted of two notes, one written by himself, the other

DY the private secretary The secretary's note read

My de Bish The Senator was not able to get a
satisfactory audience with the President to-day, as there
was a Cabinet meeting Sut he has spoken where, he
be lieves, it will do the most good I do not think you need
give yourself uneasiness as to the outcome. We feel con-
fident. I shall report to you to-morrow, however, tele-

phoning immediately if anything unexpected arises

The Senator wrot« ** M ar J } The wind is
blowing in the right direction. If we watch our p's and
‘ep quiet we will have it up to a forty-knot gale

bring results. Don’t worry. Leave that to
Brother Somersby and Sister Hinkley. This is for your
eye alone.”” This note, in the Senator's own hand, duly
marked ‘‘confidential’’ within and ‘“personal’’ without,
was for Mr. Joseph Nugent, president of the Grand Mogul
Distillery, Ethelton, Ilana

A large white Senatorial envelope, bearing Merchant's
frank and directed to Nugent, lay on the stenographer's
desk. Private Secretary Bard saw it plainly. Just as
plainly he saw the sleepy stenographer inclosing the
Nugent note, in the Senator's cramped characters, in the
other envelope, which was directed to Rev. John Wesley
Somersby, in care of Lydia Anne Hinkley, Washington

Bard's hand moved toward the stenographer's shoulder.
His tongue was about to say: ‘“‘Hold on, Ned! You've

q's and ke
t

in time to

Spider and Flies in Washington

By WILL PAYNE

put ’em in the wrong envelopes.’’ His tongue did not say
it, however. He stared at the two envelopes a moment;
put his hand in his pocket and went out slowly. On the
Capitol steps he paused; then laughed and went on to his
car.
ul

7 sun was setting as Bard dropped from the car,

within sight of the White House, and trudged the three
blocks home.

To get home he passed beneath a great sandstone arch,
pointed and carved in the Moorish style; crossed a little
court thickly set with palms and ferns in green tubs;
entered an imposing doorway where he received the affable
nods of two personages in livery, and so found himself in a
splendid marble hall, columned with many slender shafts
and murmurous with the plash of the fountain in the centre.
A noble marble salon, pleasantly brightened with rugs and
pictures, opened from the hall. There was an elegant
reception-room in front. Several liveried fellows to the
warders of the door might be seen lounging in the extensive
and costly spaces. Having passed this ground-floor
magnificence, Bard was briskly elevated to the eighth floor,
where he made his way down a narrow and as yet unlighted
corridor to the door which let him into his very tight little
five-rooms-and-a-bath—one of those sets of marvelously

The Honorable Queerenough

compact cubby-holes of which the grand pile contained
some three hundred.

Bard's own set looked out upon a tarred roof, which
reflected the heat infernally, and a chimney that smoked.
But on the first floor he could outface the British Embassy
or the White House itself Senator Merchant owned the
pile. Having built it from funds which somewhat mys-
teriously accrued when Cuba floated her bonds, he named
it the Quirinal. Bard called it the Queerenough.

The seeming emptiness of the dim flat—which could
scarcely contain two human beings in any position without
ware of the other—struck depressingly on the
young man’s heart. Heput hishand tothe switch mechan-
ically, and heard a kind of fat chuckle before the flooding
light revealed the human figure. Then he stopped short,
startled, mysteriously stricken with a searching pain. It
was the last man in the world that he wished to see

“Why, Jim, how are you?” he said.

Brisbane shook hands gravely. The welcome was far
from what he had expected. Brisbane himself was well

one being :

toward forty, stumpy and fat. His short legs conformed
to the general globular scheme of his person by bowing
noticeably. Though his broad face expressed intelligence

and good humor, it was ruined architecturally by a pug
nose and a knobby protuberance of the brow over his large,
deep-set brown eyes. His fat was of the aggressive,
irrepressible sort that no tailor can subdue. Thus,
although his clothes were of good texture and make, there
was no spot on his body where they fitted. He grinned
capaciously at Bard's trig suit and light, figured waistcoat.

“All the same, Billy, you can’t fool the
hired girl,’ he observed. ‘‘The minute
she saw me she knew I was from the same
tall grass you came out of. So she left
me here while she went to call at an am-
bassador’s—I judged from her togs.”’

“She goes about as she pleases,’’ Bard
replied dryly, and added: ‘‘ Bessie is over at the Senator's
this afternoon —a reception.”

The fat man’s shrewd glance was steadily taking stock
of his host. ‘‘The Senator's, eh?” he said calmly. ‘‘And
how is that noble old two-legged hyena?”’

Bard did not laugh, but looked at the other with a kind
of hunger. ‘He's rotten, Jim,” he said. ‘‘He’s an awful
old fraud from beginning to end; and he’s got me tied up.
Take this prohibition bill: Bishop Somersby came on here
with a rip-roaring, red-hot delegation to root for it. Same
time Joe Nugent and the other big distillers landed in town
to fight it. The Senator got the Bishop’s bunch and soft-
soaped ’em until they couldn't stand without spikes in
their boots; then neatly turned 'em over to me to take out
to Arlington and Mount Vernon and down to Richmond
I steered ’em against historic monuments until my legs
dropped off. Kept ’em out of town three days, giving the
Senator a free field to handle the distillers and brewers,
who are bigger game politically. He neatly dodged the
vote on the bill and devoted himself to finding out what the
President was going to do. He's sure the President will
veto the bill, so he's making Nugent think he slew it with
his good right hand. If it had been the other way he'd
have made Somersby think he pushed it through. That’s
Honorable Queerenough from the ground up

The Senator's Able Mind had Taken in All the Possibilities of the
Case the Moment He Read the Dispatch

“How does he treat you, Billy?” Brisbane inquired
incidentally.

‘Same as everybody else. He can't help it. Ispenta
hundred and forty-four dollars taking the prohibitionists
around those three days, and turned in a memorandum of
it. Yesterday was my birthday.’’ Bard went to the
little secretary in the corner and returned with a large
white Senatorial envelope, bearing Merchant's frank, and
directed to himself at the Quirinal. This he handed to
Brisbane, who extracted a note that ran:

‘Dear Billy: Many happy returns of the day! I
haven't had you by me this long without finding out that
you deserve the success and happiness which, I believe, are
coming to you in ample measure. Otherwise there is no
virtue in loyalty, pluck and industry. Butcher the in-
closed to make a Washington holiday!”

One inclosure was a check for twenty-five dollars.
Another was a receipt trom the agent of the Quirinal for
two months’ rent at sixty dollars a month. The third was
aslip of paper with figures on it that made a total of $143.65.

**‘Do you see?’’ said the private secretary. ‘‘That’s
my expense-account for the prohibition jaunt. He makes
me a birthday present of my own money, after carefully
deducting two months’ rent for his flat. He brought
Bessie over here and showed her the flat and told her in that
reckless Santa Claus manner of his just to move in; there'd
never be any trouble about the rent. And there never
has been. He takes it out of my salary.”

‘Still, he did give you a dollar thirty-five,” said Brisbane
soberly. ‘‘ Probably an oversight.”

}

“He'll get it back. Don't worry,
“When he offered me this job at two tho
knew politics at home well enough, but was pretty greet

about Washington. So I imbibed the impression tha
paying me that salary would pretty near break him. O
course, aS Soon as I got here he had m« ppointed clerk of
Senate committee at a salary from the Government of
$2200. He puts the odd two hundred in his own pocket
Why, Jim, he grafts from his wife! That's no hyperb
you know; no flowery figure of speec! it a cold fact
He gives her $3000 a month to run the house on,
charges her up is own stationer d so on that
the Governmer I hone ‘ he ets up
the night and picks his own |

“Oh, sure!”’ ] replied, as of a well-knov ct
then abruptly: “It’s pretty good out on the Little Stor
nowadays, Billy. There’s always plenty of salubrious air
over the tall grass—and the good old boys with burs ir

their whiskers. Just chuck this and come hom« You
got trie nds who'll give you a boost, you kK! ;

Billy
filling it, however, but turning
abstracted motion. ‘I can't, Jim,”
suppose I made a fool of myself
out there. When it busted up I wanted t« t awa Of
ething The boy died, vou]

il i} else
I thought a nve would

leaned over and took a pipe from the table, not

itin his

with the little newspaper

course, there was som

and Bessie was all broken 1

be best for her. I don’t knc Ww, Jim I Ly
mistake. The trouble all coming a bur I hut
my mouth and turned stony It seemed to me the less said
and the quicker we got away the better rhe

He ended there, softly rubbing the bow] of the pipe and

looking into the dead grate Brisbane recalled the duc
aspect of the entrance to Bard’s small, tar-scented ke
invaded abods the flippant, gadding 1 ol-a vork

There was still no hint of dinner about the pi:
‘* Bessie likes it here?” he inquire d cheerfu
“Of course; there s ple nty to occupy her,

In the Midst of a Crisis, Awaiting a Denouement Which
Completely Absorbed Their Minds

indirectly. ‘‘The Merchants and their friends have been
attentive to her. It’s an easy place to make a front in with
the right backing. Women like those thing He tossed
the pipe to the table. ‘And old Queerenough makes it
pay. Bessie and Janet Templeton went along w
the prohibition crowd out of town—to taffy the
hypnotize the brothers. Oh, he ne
Having the family belong to the Queerenough thimble
riggers isn’t just ple He laughed mirthlessly. I
don’t blame her, Jim— women being nat af

Again Brisbane spoke cheerfully.
I suppose?”

“‘One of the queens of the pack,”’
absently.

Brisbane picked up the pipe

ver overlooks a bet

asant.”’

unco-men by

ure

flourishing,

Bard replied, rather

table and examined it thoughtfully 1eSs yuu had
the best of it, Billy —falling in love and mart rearly a
you did. Mavbe it’s like measles con ea i take!

early, but well-nigh fatal
for an ordinary brier, seemed greatly to interest him I
had the ring bought once.”’

““You, Jim?”

in maturer years

In spite of Bard’s fondne

touch of amusement in his increduk one

“| suppose it wasn'ta Square deal,”’ Brisbane re pled
coolly. ‘She was a good deal younger—too young to be
bound. Soit didn't last, except by way of giving me a sort

l
of inside interest in my friends’ love-affairs If it
that I can boost ‘em a bit in the right way, I kind of feel
that I’m paying a tribute to her with such part of my being
as isn’t fat and bow-legged.”” He, in turn, laid the pipe

happens

her finery might have cost

having even

figure

income

tired

“Just
had

ns My old colle

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

ck « et flou
she lr ike the n t be i 1 epoda
Yi flourishir th a mi
own troubles “SI 1 quer f she e of the
r r That's t ] Q
T ‘ 1% ;
Ca ‘ ea
x Ar I
tric} that nol eate} hir } }
and s1 ale l t my !
l'ilget u | it ir et !
Br ine he his f 1 laida pu ul
\ r nes Chuck B (
Le Start o

t ti 1 ) ‘ !

, \ : ‘ '

| oth ‘ \
ne i
that, what r Merchar
If ever l t nat r h

f br Nat
mind

A slow ‘ ‘ 1 (
i it v t a ‘ ‘
H . . t }
H " i ,u
I’ve shot alre But the ¢

Follov ur ' ‘

lken rustle th ha 1 } 1 hy
yn that lieht breeze. a yman ¢

\ 1 , '

Mr. James T. Brist he 1 ir

Voce ind swept u I 1 laugt she i i
edly a pret mar it 1 } }
even white teeth, a race lf i \ Brisbane
palm closed over her nea | ndered how

/
j iste
/

Lydia Anne Hinkley, that Paragon of Female Wisdom

He was hor

an approximate gauge
bore no reasonable relation to a two-t housand
In spite of her vivacity, he saw that sl
He felt in her the tension of high keyed 1
a half-hour ago an old friend was asking 1

en you,’ she said

e chum, Adelbert P. Merchant ?’’ he

She smiled brilliantly Your old college chu
Templeton,”’ she replied. ‘I suspect she wish«
you ,

Bard, who had not risen, laughed withou
get your legs in the flypaper, Jim.””. Mrs. Bard ignor
sall

Brisbane commented te himself Poor
they’re up against it Aloud he coe "
suspicious of me, Bessie.”’

- gram 1 pa Aa A
received in your envelope, addresse the fol
Here Bard's note to Bishop Somerst us qu
Must he ome I take rt Va ned ur
Nugent ! i The Senator i 1,
neously supplied with data | I Dp ct met!
taken in all the po bilities OT the case the moment !
the dispatch rhe unhappy iographer, pale a
tated, stood at the end of the Senator eS Ba
stolidly t

YENATOR MI

MW
-RCHANT was staring down at

dy
! \
‘ no
i
d
1 ar
eda
f
Da
| '
I
}
ther
» da
prol
the
» bre
il
ta
you t

1 ‘ ip? ! < rewrTe
’ +}
L « ' ‘
ed Ba
|
ia
1 |
| yr ft
} } {
} } , .
1 '
. } }
, }
t B apathy
I il it
1 PAVE l i
1 +} " 1 ad tell
! it i n old cat
Iw j } I'd never get
t | ft imoment
I pad that ¢

Sat on the Edge of the Couch and Told Her
and Steadily, About the !

Very Gently

ixed Letters

nd and find th rand lea another in it
It wuld be ] the old cat not to trust anvbod
} + he added th much bitterne
j lv at } ry led chin-whisker
hes B irned iin to Bard tha bright dawning
} , hy ht er dthe m is of the twe
eou Du th l na eonducte
} tactful your
ird ha ea conqu Lydia Anne
1 r il the conductors
} h } 1 of ich, the Senator’s hop
ar } fl ecretary. For ar
} n each man looked in uy
} ‘ t \ ! ‘ r AW a
) { | i or mble
} hir
he rid «
'
| f | da WI
! Lu i
} | on the ¢
i} tead i
{ Ad r ni lace bliss «
} lool rath hea He 1 f
r t h hers, hout a p
tad he
1 lone, B }
I) ] oul

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

JOAQUISTITA

Robert Henry’s Own Story of His
Captivity and Enslavement

IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH

NOW learned a thing which I had gradually begun to

suspect : | was destined to fulfill the funetion of human

sacrifice at the October corn feast which was now fast
approaching. Father Joseph admitted that this was the
case one evening in September after | had put the question
flatly to him in such a way as to admit of no evasion. The
good man, who, | believe, had come to regard me as a son,
much distressed at the awful news which he was
obliged to impart. It appeared that he had interceded
with Cohome for me repeatedly, but to no purpose, and the
absence of white captives upon the plateau was now fully
explained. It was a hard blow for me, for by this time my
strength had entirely returned and life burned strong
within me, but I told Father Joseph that I was not afraid

was

“Hands Up!"

Qo 7 faerinerees:

x
to die, that I had never consciously wronged anybody,
except Mackay and Senator Hearst, and was prepared to
meet God with a clear conscience. That night he prayed
for me a long time and gave me his blessing.

Two days before the feast I was taken to the centre of the
village and with thongs of deer hide tightly bound to the
stake in a standing position with my hands behind my
back. Here I was allowed to remain (for the sake of puri-
fication, I was told) for forty-eight hours without food or
water. Around the stake in parallel circles were con-
structed frameworks of saplings upon which were hung
festoons of vegetables as an offering to the god. Near the
stake in the centre of the circle was placed an apparatus
which looked not unlike a horizontal bar and from which
hung heavy thongs. During the feast the warriors would
take their knives and cut under the muscles of their arms
and backs and thus suspend themselves by means of the
thongs for an hour at a time.

According to tradition, the sacrifice most grateful to the
Sun God-was a white male captured in war. In default of
such a one a virgin of the tribe of high rank could volun-
tarily offer herself. Father Joseph informed me that such
was the blind devotion of these people to their inherited
beliefs that it was regarded as a privilege and honor fora

Map of Joaquistita Showing : Okio's House, Cohome's House, Store House,

Famine Houses, 1-- Father Joseph's House, 2— My Own House,
3 — Juz’s House, 4 Chapo'’s House, Tents A,, Huts (—)

= writo <<
~ AME Jorav
Lincintssdel &

young girl thus to go to the stake, and that volunteers were
never lacking. In this they were encouraged by their
parents, the chief, and the shaman.

But it was ordained that I should not meet death in this
way. The corn feast was to be celebrated, beginning at
sunrise, upon the twenty-third of the month of October.
As I have stated, | was bound to the stake on the morning
of the twenty-first. Here I remained in great agony from
my bonds with only Father Joseph to comfort me until the
evening of the twenty-second. The good man remained
constantly by my side, offering me what encouragement he
could, but not daring to attempt to give me any food.

Just after sunset I noticed a Mexican peon approaching
from the direction of the lake, holding in his hand a piece
of ore. He stopped and spoke to me, saying that he
had seen many white men perish in the flames even as I
was about to do. He told me that he was a native of
Numeradios, near the city of Chihuahua, and had been in
bondage over twelve years. I asked to see the ore which
he carried and he held it up so that I could observe how rich
it was. He said it was a fair sample of that taken from the
mines of the western range. I asked if the percentage of
silver recovered was very large and he replied that it was not.
I then remarked that as a practical miner I knew that ore
of that quality ought to run five hundred dollars to the ton.
He said that, under their system of smelting, such a yield
would be unheard-of, that all they did was to pour the ore
into kettles and melt out the silver by building as hot fires
as they could beneath, and that hot fires were hard to
make. I laughed at this and said they needed a few
Yankees to show them how.

Father Joseph, who had been standing near listening to
our conversation, inquired if I was thoroughly familiar with
improved methods of smelting, and when I answered in the
affirmative I could see by his face that an idea had seized
him. He hurried off and presently returned with Cohome.

The old chief questioned me closely about my knowledge
of mining and sent for Pextl and Hengo, who also cross-
examined me. Then Cohome inquired what kind of ore
the Mexican had shown me. [answered at once:

‘“Tanky silver, which is known as gray copper ore.”’

““Can you increase the yield of our mines in silver?’’ he
asked.

‘IT can swear to increase the amount of silver you smelt
from your ore,” L answered, ‘if you are burning it out under
the old pan sy stem.”

‘How much more?” said Cohome.

**Seventy-five per cent.,’’ I answered on a guess.

“Very well,” he replied; ‘‘do this and you will live, but
if you fail your death will make burning seem a pleasure.’

He then cut the thongs that bound me and tore them out
of my flesh, in which they had been imbedded, so that I
shrieked with pain. I fell to the ground and was again
carried to the house of Father Joseph.

Early next morning I heard all the tribe gathering for
thefeast. I wasstillin agony from my wounds and in some
fear lest Cohome should change his mind, but I crept to the
door in order to see what I had escaped. The square was
crowded with Indians in gala dress. The women had
donned their earrings, fillets and blankets, and the men
their buckskin trousers adorned with scalp-locks. Here
and there one of them could be seen arrayed in civil-
ized garments stripped probably from the dead body
of a Mexican farmer. Some of the women had
dresses secured doubtless in the same way, and I
remember one old woman, the oldest of Cohome’s
wives, who had on a black silk dress covered with
jet. There was something ghastly about seeing a
descendant of the Aztecs wearing the finery of a
murdered woman.

Around the stake wood had been piled to a con-
siderable height and the frames had been hung heav-
ily with vegetable offerings. At the base lay huge
heaps of corn, beans and maize. I have seen a
s good many strange sights, but never one to equal
this in its weird horror. It was the moment before
sunrise and the ridge above the mesa was tipped
with brilliant reddish light that turned the por-
phyry summits and conglomerate cliffs to purple,
pink and yellow. Over the lake hung a light silvery
mist, and peering through it was the faint disk of
the setting moon. There was total silence as the
tribe waited the advent of their god, who now sud-
denly peered over the mountain-ridge and the whole
mesa glowed with light. The Indians dropped upon
their knees and commenced to chant their hymn.

April 14, 1906

Then the curtain of Cohome’s door was pushed aside and
a girl, his youngest daughter, clad in a white cotton robe
with a wreath of flowers about her head, stepped out and
walked singing to the stake. Two warriors bound her to it,
just as I had been bound the day before, and the fire was
lighted. Not once did she cease singing or take her eyes
from the rising sun until, without a cry, her head fell for-
ward indeath. Soon her charred body slid into the fire and
was lost to my sight.

Meantime the Indians had continued their chanting, but
now the men leaped forward and, led by the shaman, began
to dance. Gourds of liquor were passed around and grad-
ually the scene became one of fierce drunkenness. Only on
these occasions is there the slightest intemperance. For
them the women distill a sort of corn whisky of two va-
rieties, like the mescal of the Mexican Indians, called the
dekella and the megaya. The feast continued for two whole
days and nights, while I, sick at what I had seen and fever-
ish from my wounds, lay on my pallet, expecting momen-
tarily to be dragged out and murdered. Nothing of the
sort happened, however, and the next day the village had
reverted to its normal state of order and sobriety.

As soon as I could ride I was taken on mule-back to the
mines, escorted by Pextl and Hengo and four warriors, who
thereafter acted as my constant guards. I found, as I had
been told, that the mines were very rich and of great extent

rmWAAha Yu ht
’ * 7h os
A 4
x iS 4
ee 4,"
* %
WS DESERT ¢
Vo ERR + : \ Se
Wwe Ss x a
f K _
Naan) \ PLAT BAU
pw e x
ep <°@
‘ la ‘
F mimes 7 = masse
5 JORQHIST Te {
: I Ss q joe hme, \
f \ Xe Town i Py
” A i= \
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PRA sononn t wor *
apt cnnen w WYN N
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S
Sketch Showing General Location of the Following: 1—Town

of Joaquistita, 2— Lake Joaquistito, 3 — Mines (Town of San
Noma), 4 — San Rafael River, 5 — Sonora Canon, 6 — Cliffs and
Mammoth, 7 — Desert Plateau and Pass (Escape

and that the method of smelting was of the most primitive
sort, so that I was able to show the chief, as I had promised
to do, how almost to double the amount of silver smelted
bythem. Iam pretty sure that I managed to extract ninety
per cent. more metal. The result was that I began to be
regarded as a very valuable possession, and although my
guard was continued I was given a cabin of my own and two

I also be-
came well acquainted with Cohome and was several times

old peons to do my gardening and housework.

invited to accompany him on hunting expeditions. I took
pains to please the old fellow, who was exceedingly intelli-
gent, and I was soon very high in his esteem. He liked to
hear about the cities of the north, the way people lived,
of railroads, and particularly of the sea and ships. He also
sent me daily choice pieces of venison, vegetables and fish.
As I had no axe to grind and made myself agreeable to all
the chiefs, my popularity was general, and to a certain de-
gree I became, as it were, the fashion. The chiefs called me
** Bobo,” and invited me to meals and to smoke with them.
I now found the life far from unpleasant. I was healthy,
well fed, the climate was the most wonderful I have ever
known, and the hunting was good. In addition, I was suffi-
ciently occupied with the smelting, and found society in
Father Joseph, and Cohome, Juz, Chapo, Pextl and the
others.

One evening, in the presence of several other chiefs,
Cohome laid his hand on my shoulder and said

‘**Bobo, my son, you are a wise man and have seen all the
tribes and lands of the world. Have you ever seen any land
equal to this?”

‘No,’ L replied, ‘‘for climate, game and mountains this
is the best I have seen.”

‘*Do you not find the life good?”’

‘“‘Yes,’’ Lanswered. ‘It is free and healthy and happy

‘Then why not abide here as one of us?"’ he asked.

I pondered a moment. Indeed, one
could have gone farther and fared worse.
At any rate, I thought I saw an oppor-
tunity.

‘“‘Chief,’’ said I, ‘‘in my country if a
man was looked upon as of sufficient in-
tegrity to take charge of a thousand
men mining silver, it would not be
thought fitting to surround him with
guards like a bandit.”

At this the other chiefs grunted in ap-
proval, and Cohome smiled and said:

“‘T have been thinking of that, and it
is my intention to have you become a
sub-chief of the tribe as is befitting your
experience and wisdom.”’

Accordingly, next day the chiefs, of
whom there were about twenty, assem-
bled and Cohome addressed them. He
explained my merits and knowledge,
and further took the position that I be-
longed to him to a certain extent, since
he had given his daughter's life that I
might live. This idea created quite an
impression and my election was carried
without a single dissenting voice. In-
deed, it would have done no good to
dissent, as Cohome’s will was practically
law.

The ceremony of ordaining me as a
chief was peculiar. I was placed up-
right with my arms outstretched at the
end of the council house and each chief
fired a shot at me, apparently trying to
see how near he could come to me with-
out hitting me. As they were all good
shots, the performance, though rather
unpleasant, was not particularly danger-
ous,

My guards were then removed, and in
addition Cohome informed me that, as I
was now a full-fledged Quistitan and a
sub-chief, it was necessary for me to
have some wives. How many did I want? I was entitled
to eight. I thought that if I went into the thing at all
I had better do it up brown, so I said I thought eight would
be about the right number. So the old fellow assembled
all the unmarried women of the village and picked out one
of his own daughters, a sister of Chapo, and a daughter of
Juz, as well as five others with whom I “‘ snapped the twig,”
as the saying was. Thewomen had nooption in the matter.

I now began to see rather less of Father Joseph and more
of the chiefs, although my relations with the priest were still
of the friendliest character, and I learned a great deal about
the surrounding mountains and the relics of antiquity that
were to be found amongthem. One thing which I observed
was that the Quistitans made use of the same little walls to
terrace their farms on the mountainsides that one sees in
ruins all through the Sierra Madre. They alsosmoked stone
pipes curiously carved which had been handed down to
them. Ona cliff at the head of the lake a gigantic serpent
was painted many feet in length, and at different other
points in the valley were similar attempts at ornamenta-
tion. Some of these were clearly Aztec in character and
depicted swords with teeth. Cohome said that these pic-
tures had been painted by their ancestors, but that there
were, unfortunately, no longer any artists living among
them. He also inquired if I could draw, to which I replied
in the negative, as I had no desire to go into the decorating
I also discovered that Father Joseph had come

business

to the plateau with another priest who had died soor
after
Fray Jo is a good man,"’ Cohome used to sa but some

one has deceived him. He isa little weak in the head. H
says the dead rise. Did any one ever see the dead r H
says we turn into birds when we dic Phi child's talk
What do you think?”’

‘1 think,” I answered, ‘‘that Fray ery Wise and
good man. But strong-minded men are apt to disagree «
such difficult topics. lam convinced that God will punish

the guilty and reward the good

This pleased the old man, for he had a secret but very
great regard for Father Joseph Evidently the good
description of an angel was too much for the Quistitan
imagination. I never told Father Joseph about :

I found on examining the granite and marble of which
the lower part of Okio’s house was built that m
was marble quartz which showed an oxide in which gold
No one could tell me where it h:

the bird

ich of it

could be easily seen.
been procure d.

the
plateau was of volcanic origin, and one day found among
the rocks some fossils of fish pertect in ¢

I was also naturally curious to know whether or not

very detail
this I concluded that at some time the whole country must
tre

fossil

have been elevated to its present height by some
mendous volcanic upheaval. When I showed the
to Cohome he hed and said that they were nothing

that he would show me a big bone as

lau

large as a mule o

I Said They Needed a Few Yankees to Show Them How

the next day we rode to the head of the mesa and, true
enough, he pointed out to me, lying near a cliff, the skeleton
of some prehistoric monster with }

really were about as long as a small mule

curved tu

* since

seen similar tusks in the Museum of Natural History on
Ninety-first Street, New York.

I must now recount perhaps the most interesting of the
episodes which occurred during my stay with the Quistitar
Cohome having invited me to go with him to his bull fight
one afternoon, I found myself given a seat in | famil
circle beside one of his wives whom, up to that time, I had
not met, at some distance from the chief h elf Sud
denly the woman turned and said to me in Englist lam
aSpaniard. I was educated at the College of Notre Dame
San Francisco. Iam Anita, the only daughter of Governor
Bacheeco of Sinaloa.’” | could hard I at tl
was the ver girl whom I had een at tne ( ner
father’s house in Culiacan when I had appealed to I in
behalf of my associates and myself several years befor
As rapidly as she could, she explained to me how she had
been captured, brought to the plateau, and compelled
marry Cohome She had been on her w: from her
father’s haci t t the e for riy
owned by f Wast on, Bat

and, although

her escort had all been }

accompanied
illed and she herse
the Sier

inte a Madr She had been in Joaquistita

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

everal vea Ot ex t t had hea ofr capture
‘ ape tre deat! } ‘ ! nie
r i ‘ ner r T ‘
nen ¢ I e, < it i t | ink
he |} h la as P ate dered . ston
" ’ ‘ her n
i age \ na
A ve afte 1 u Ll we ( ican an
notified Gove Bach at | ‘ hter w
1 an Ind hief on the platea He- had alwa
ppose he ( " at f ‘ ' ere Tt
but becor ced of h offered ea large
int of money to equip a pa Joaquistita
nd effect he release ] Ww ha a thir W
" |
Governor l do \ emember once robt t
ind my three « aides of the San Rosalea mine |
believe th ne iv God! iKé I nh
] eemed t ict he old Spa ird the q k to think
hat } da hter W he wife ofan I i
FREE
ee e among the Quistitans, enjoying
great freedom and upon the whol ( happy At
t es 1l seemed that perhay alte i l« l i
better than to live « I beau | platea t
of life I | was alwa n the lookout
t ipe and maturi a pian to trave ( e! intai to
the ea Vard ind cT th cesert of
(hihual i where I believed that my
experiences in Queensland, New Guinea
and South Africa would serve me in good
tead Dona, my little mare, had been
given back to me to ride, although, save
when out hunting, | was never allowed a
rifle This was the only visible sign that
Il wa ° it fact Still a prisone r

In April, at the sowing of the crops

there was another corn feast at which was

sacrificed a White man, also a prospector
who had been captured and

like my
brought to the plateau a week or so before
Al

I used all n influence with Cohome to

by save his life, but to no purpose

;

| No, my sor aid he,*'1] cannot spare
another daughter It is time for a real
sacrifice Doubtl tl is a bi man

who is being puni IS SII And
he winked at me, as if recalling my relig-
ious beliel

l gave the prisoner what comfort I
could, and on the morning of the corn
feast retired to my house, but | was un-

his

atl lw

there to shut out cries as

ed to de as
permitted to converse th him the night
from him for his family This man was
a native of Joliet, Ili John Turner by
ul | ner I | till ring in my
ea
| also ‘ dati corn feast the
following October when another young
piri, t! cada hter ol Pextl, gave
her life he god
As I had ed among the Indians over

appa ently co!

lattempt

had no intention «

ing to ¢ ip and conducted himself

aln i father toward me In fact

he 4 fathe la which must not
be forgotten Frequent he allowed me toa t him in
distributing goods trom the torehouse, and occasionally
to give out arms under | nmediate supervision rhis
enabled me at last to gain possession of a Colt .45 and
1 Bowie knife, which | carefully se

reted In my bedding

confident that at least one of my wWive knew of
my intention to attempt to escape, but loyally remained
ilent As I have already izgested, | had determined
hat the best course for me to pursue was to try to make

out of the i t Nay ¢ the ca n of the
San Rafael, and, if cessful in tl to i raight
uC the dese of Chil hua to the eastward There
vere several reasor 1 favor of tl plan I t, the
Qu ins would natural ppose tl 1 would tr
to escape by way of the n throug! h I had be
br here and to re thr } } ! he
routs hich our pa had « ved i
t ng at in Rafael I sh I i
por n of tl! i t
Third, I had reason to be hat I could: he setth
met i shorter time | » the « han tot
est, and ther i i nha I rur
the Ir ul ere 1 1 r horse
I nta h v rea ha f «
perience nw desert ! ) is I
‘ t 4 nr t 1 !
( j

THE SATURDAY
EVENING POST

FOUNDED A°’D' 1728
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY
THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY

421 TO 427 ARCH STREET

GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR

PHILADELPHIA, APRIL 14, 1906

Single Subscriptions, $2.00 the Year. In Clubs, $1.25 Each
Five Cents the Copy of All Newsdealers

Foreign Subscriptions: For Countries in the Postal Union
Single Subscriptions, $3.25. In Clubs, $2.50 Each
Remittances to be Made by International Postal Money Order |

Mr. Carnegie and Humor

T WAS Mr. Jerome K.: Jerome, an Englishman, who

propounded anew the ancient and altogether dreary
conundrum as to whether English or American humor is
superior. About the same time a number of British
authors discussed Andrew Carnegie’s proposal to endow
spelling reform in a manner which ought to settle the
question in favor of America. ‘T hey took Andrew seri-
ously. Nobody can do that and support any considerable
claim to humor

Several years ago, when the ironmaster publicly dedi-
cated himself to the profession of getting rid of his money,
he aroused an extraordinary interest. The thorough-
going capacity which he had displayed in the obverse
vocation of acquiring half a billion or so promised striking
results in the restorative process. Besides, it was a
novelty. Undoubtedly his intentions were honorable.
He has worked hard and conscientiously at his new calling,
diligently seeking to irrigate, from the copious stream of
his regal income, as many promising bits of arid soil as
possible. Perhaps he foresaw, early in the undertaking,
that the utmost he could accomplish would amount to a
mere incidental spattering —in which case he might as well
dribble for a dandelion of Carnegie heroism here and a
Johnny-jump-up of spelling reform there as empty the
watering-pot to raise a single sheaf of wheat. He sticks
manfully to the job. In his recent trip through the South
he dutifully uncorked the can at most junction points
and spilled a revivifying cupful, properly trade-marked
Meanwhile the delectable system which made him a multi-
millionaire still operates in unimpaired efficiency. The
interest on his $300,000,000 of Steel Trust bonds is earned
by a tariff which permits the Trust to charge consumers at
home one-third more than it charges consumers abroad,
and by a transportation scheme which gives it use of the
national highways at preferential rates. The suggestion
that this is made all right to the common man if one out of
a million of him can get a bronze medal, for which he has no
possible use, signifying that Mr. Carnegie deems him a hero,
or by a faint promise of simplifying his orthographical
difficulties, ought to be a conclusive test for humor.

Although expressing no opinion as to the rival claims of
English and American humor, we maintain that the Scotch
article is superior to both.

Railroads in Politics
i io report of the. Pennsylvania Railroad shows that
'

rross earnings of the system for the vear 1905 were
$266,069, 598, Add the Baltimore and Ohio and otherroads
in which Pennsylvania influence is admittedly dominant
and vou havea total well toward half a billior Inshort,a

few gentlemen sitting in Broad Street headquarters ad-

minister an enterprise whose yearly receipts and disburse-
ments nearly equal those of the National
By consulting arailroad map you will see that th

f this enterprise are confined within that comparativels
small part of the natior !

board and the Missi Ippl River, south of the Great Lakes
New York State and Ne England and north of the Ohio
River. Within that territory it is the most important

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

single enterprise going. Probably it is fair to say that
its activities touch, in a direct and important way, more
concerns and people than areso touched by all Government
activities, Federal, State and local. In all of its parts it is,
theoretically at least, a creation of law, and subject on all
sides to the effects of political action.

We hear a good deal said about the activity of railroads
in politics, the important part they take in influencing
elections, shaping legislation, and so on. Perhaps we fall
into a way of thinking that this powerful political activity
is merely a symptom of incidentally bad conditions that
will soon pass away, so that in time the political power of
the Pennsylvania Railroad will consist of the handful of
individual votes cast by the gentlemen up in Broad Street
Station; that they will count for no more in polities than
you and I, Then again, when we pause and reflect a
moment, we know this is kindergarten poppycock. By
the very terms of its being, so long as the Pennsylvania
system exists it will be a mighty factor in politics. The
political power that inevitably.and incurably accrues to it
through its ability to advance or retard the interests of
great numbers of men-—-which, while it may be somewhat
lessened, can never be eliminated— will always be ad-
ministered like any other asset in the estate, by the handful
of gentlemen in Broad Street, and they, consequently, will
always count about one thousand politically when you and
I count one.

Government by the Lawyers

ARLY in the Senate debate on the railroad rate bill
a number of more or less perfunctory speeches were
made, dealing with such merely political features as the
iniquity of rebates and the unrestrained power of the roads
to make or mar the fortunes of individuals and communi-
ties. Naturally these speeches received very little con-
sideration in the chamber itself. But later, when the
issue was sifted down to its final values, the discussion took
ona far different and more important character. Senators
hung upon one another’s words, and it appeared that what
was said was having a real effect in shaping opinions which
would finally be expressed in votes. The vital questions
dealt with in this later, vote-shaping phase of the debate
were: If Congress declared in the bill that a rate fixed by
the commission should not be suspended by the temporary
injunction of a circuit court (created by the same Congress)
pending full judicial review and final judgment, would
the declaration have any binding effect upon the court, and,
if it did have such binding effect, would that render the bill
unconstitutional and void?

Some of the ablest lawyers in the Senate rather opined
that Congress had the power to enjoin the lower Federal
courts from enjoining the commission by temporary, ex-
parte order; but seemed embarrassed by a grave doubt
whether the exercise of this Congressional power would not
be unconstitutional. One hopeful view was that Congress
could keep the lower courts from suspending the com-
mission’s rate, but couldn’t keep them from suspending the
penalty for refusing to put the rate in operation— thereby
leaving it to the gentle discretion of the railroad. One
is glad to learn, from a careful perusal of the debate, that
there is scarcely any doubt that Congress has the power
to regulate freight rates—only it is exceeding doubtful
whether Congress can deposit this power anywhere except
in the courts, where it is useless.

If we hada government by doctors instead of by lawy ers,
no doubt rate-regulation would finally be decided by a
series of bacteriological tests.

Taming the Octopus

EW YORK and Chicago have gas octopuses which are

replete with the most objectionable features of their
breed— being grossly over-capitalized and chronically
addicted to political activities of a deleterious nature. For
a good while past the most noisome legislative scandals
that have occurred at Albany and Springfield have been
coincident with the appearance of bills that the respective
gas trusts wished to have passed or killed. In both cities
a great many people are looking to municipal
the only possible relief. Just a year ago, Chicago, after
long suffering a really intolerable transportation service,
definitely adopted the difficult experiment of a municipal
street-car system. In the twelve months that have

gas works as

elapsed since the election absoluts ly nothing has been done

that brings realization nearer. The citizens have suffered
another year of wretched service and the whole matter is
to be voted on again at the spring election. An affirmative

vote will put the advocates of municipal ownership abou

where they thought they were a year ago-—that is, at the
beginning of the undertaking. Meantime, within a few
weeks, the Chicago City Council has passed an ordinance
reducing the price of gas from a dollar to eighty-five cents,
which has been accepted by the company and is already
in operation; and the New York legislature has enacted a

law reducing gas in the metropolis from a dollar to eighty
cents. When it came to the test, this feat, in both cities
was accomplished with eas«

April 14, 1906

This suggests, on its face, a very decided advantage in
taming and domesticating the octopus instead of seeking
to destroy it. Asa matter of fact, however, that spirit in
the big cities which is turning recevtively toward municipal
ownership was responsible for tt.2 gas victories. People
are weary of being exploited. They are inclining more
and more to accept municipal ownership.

The Vengeance of the People '

OTHING that has happened in a long time has been so
impressive, so dramatic, as the fate which has lately
overtaken those gentlemen who were chietly concerned in the
insurance scandals. In the Dark Ages such a fate would
have been recognized as the direct vengeance of the unseen
God, who at last had sent a bolt from a clear sky and blasted
the evil-doers where they stood. Nowadays we call that
bolt the force of Public Opinion. It is a form of social pun-
ishment that has been growing in power fast of late years
The chief agency by which it works is the press. Thanks to
the activities of journalism, every man and woman in the
nation has the power to judge—and condemn. And the
verdict of these millions of private judgments gets itself
registered, and with an irresistible impulse, like fate, exacts
the penalty, ultimately. It is the only court that the big
criminals are beginning to fear. In the force of this extra-
legal power that lies in the popular conscience the safety
of democracy rests.

But Public Opinion in its hearing of public causes depends
pretty generally upont he daily press for the presentation of
the case. At the best the daily press is an imperfect instru-
ment, liable to prejudice and indirect influences. If the
People are to sit in judgment and condemn the guilty to
disgrace and even death, their sources of information
should be above suspicion. Too often the newspapers mis-
represent or ignore or suppress the facts. In the service of
justice we need an absolutely fearless, honest and impartial
daily press.

If We Need the Money

HE Empire State has more trouble with its gambling

than any other State because it has more of it. About
a year ago it succeeded in attaching to the huge game in
Wall Street what is professionally known as a “‘ Kitty”
being a device whereby the landlord who furnishes the
premises and police protection gets a very modest per-
centage of the stakes. In this case the State’s ‘‘rake-off"’
consists of a small tax on stock transfers. This tax, how-
ever, does not reach bucket-shops, which eschew the
formality of transferring the stocks that they take bets on.
Recently the State, having no proprietary interest in the
bucket-shops, has been considering an elaborate legis-
lative contrivance to suppress them. This would be good
business, for it would transfer their ‘‘game”’ to an institu-
tion in which it has an interest. At the same time, the
Legislature was asked to withdraw the State’s sanction
from race-track gambling. The proposal evoked a warm
protest from gentlemen said to represent the agricultural
interests for the race-gambling ‘‘ Kitty”’ largely supports
the county fair. We all love the county fair. The very
name breathes honest industry and sweetly simple joys.
It complements the little red schoolhouse and the old
oaken bucket. It is ditficult to say just why its support
should be left to bookmakers and their touts. The case
so stands, however, in most States. Only the other day
the Supreme Court of New Hampshire upset the arrange-
ment inthat commonwealth, holding that, if the Legislature
had power to remove the criminal liability for gambling
on the racing association’s grounds, it could as well author-
ize others to maintain places where murder and robbery
might be committed without criminal liability. We would
not advise New York or any other State to license homicide
for revenue; but if they must have the ‘‘rake-off’’ why not
go at it frankly and intelligently and set up State lotteries?

Good Will—or Bad?

\ THEN a business wishes to incorporate, it makes an
/ inventory of its assets on which to base the amount
of capital stock to be issued. At the end of the list comes
the item of ‘‘good will.” In the good old days that meant
the value of the reputation established by the business for
reliable products and fair dealing, trade-marks, and so on
Corporations still keep the substance of this item: it is
convenient, though it doesn’t mean exactly the same thing
To-day it covers with a decent ambiguity all the hopes of
the promoters of an enterprise for rewards above the usual
returns upon invested capital. The ‘‘good will’ of the
Steel corporation, for example, is represented by about
half a billion of common stock; of Mr. Belmont’s new trac-
tion corporation by one hundred and twenty-five millions
additional water poured into a highly-diluted set of securi-
ties. There is something pleasantly ironic in the words
“good will”’ as applied to this form of capital. The public
pays, of course, for the ‘good will” every time that it buys
an article furnished by a corporation with a long line of
inflated securities to be cared for

fl
i
YW
}

MEN

Taft's Real Ambition
\ HO is that iarge man over ther
who has not eaten anything but

uit all night?

one string bean and a bi
asked a Gridiron Club member, when
that famous club was having fun with

| -(‘« Y nd i ri) teatad
Speaker Cannon and his gues at a din-

ner given by the Speaker to the club
*That,”’ said another member, ‘‘is
William H. Taft, Secretary of War

Everybody laughed but Taft It wa
too true to be funny to him

We all cherish secret ambitions, Taft
with the rest. One set of newspaper
maintains his darling desire is to be the
Republican Presidential « didate it
LO0OS Another et declares that }
wants to be Chief Justice of the Supreme
‘ourt of the U1 These are

re asonably exalted ambitions, eminently

( ted States

respec table and dignified. Taft may
have one or both of them, but, even if he
does, neither is the one nearest his heart
What Taft wants more than anything
else is to weigh only 250 pounds. H«
is at the solemn task of gratifying that
ambition now, and at it by all knowr
methods of banting with a few extra Hele
physical tortures thrown in to help out
Taft’s ante-banting weight —it can’t be called normal

wasabout 320pounds. Hehas fluctuated inthat neighbor-
hood for a long time, often ten or fifteen pounds above and
occasionally that much below. Ten or twenty pounds
more or less make no difference to a real fat mar The late
Wilson S. Bissell, of Buffalo, who was Postmaster-General
under President Cleveland, was the last importa ik
servant so monumental. Bissell was not so tz
but he was thicker. He couldn't ride alone in a victoria
without oozing over the sides on the wheel-guards

}
aft

had special furniture made for his office. It had to be
special, for ordinary chairs collapsed when he sat on ther

l'aft adopted the Bissell plans. His chair is trussed and
buttressed and stiffened and cantilevered Taft hopes
he can cast it aside soon. He has no regrets because he

is losing his weight distinction. Many men weigh 250
pounds, including a few statesmen. Taft was unique in
the 320-pound class
He appeared healthy enough and happy
he was at top weight, but he was only dissembling
canker was gnawing in his bosom. He wanted to ge
thinner, wanted to get approximately sylphlike so
could ride a horse built on flowing lines instead of a Perche-
ron or a Belgian coacher. One of his friends told him he
looked like the rear end of a hack. That stung Taft. He
tried to diet and backslid, tried again and again and bac k
slid to starchy foods and sweets —-the curse of the fat man
and the usual fat man’s passion lis last few
seen a series of fervent renunciations of bread :

enough when
1
i

potatoes and all that sort of food, and
the demands of his appetite. Now he is fim

made a martyr of himself and has set the limit of his martyr
jlom at 250 pounds. Poor chap! When he gets ther
he will be obliged to continue his struggle, for there yn]

one way to take off flesh, and that is to stop eating most
everything any one wants to eat ind only one way to
keep it off, and that is not toeat. Taft hasag future
of lean beefsteak and spina h, but he is reco led He

will not look like the rear end of a hac

When Taft was in the Philippines, as-governor, he be-
came ill. The Administration was much concerned, and
had daily cable re ports of his cond

reports bevan to be favorable , and one day this messa
came I am feeling so much better I was able t r
horseback twenty-tive miles into the mounta to-day

Elihu Root, then Secretary of W ar, abled in reply

Glad you are better. How is the ho

That eight-thousand milk I
the champion long-distance jo

Taft came back from his matrimony-encouraging jaunt
to the Philippines last summer with a mountain

on him. He rode every day on his large, square, sturd
steed, and gained. Then Senator Spooner, of \W msin,
came along. Spooner is not 1} r ill, but he
has ideas about ftlesh-eliminat Het Taf

I know a man,” he announced impre é who cat
take off that fat for you

Send him around,” said Taft, in a moment of inspire
courage

The man car He iv in. for he collected }

pay in advance, KI

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

@ Women

r of the Philippines

n and Charlie Taft. Taken When Their Father was Govern:
If he had r l 1 a I robat
have qui As he wa 1 to pay and di )
first flush of enthusia the Secretar ept at
could get his mor vortl Serpe dun
pared to these pt il-culture people Che man]
on a diet and gave m ne exercises l'aft rat
enougt It was } at fir Che nove yore
he was gan No hear him tell it —he t
] i po isure he t ‘ a
I r ba ! I mmand of the profe
and I ! ntil } t he fa
to kick his le p I s hea 1 tl are re
drop off
The other Cabinet n her h Hi
ts | lean f Wi he at at h ,
lestination | t H
dit ner, pr >| t il | 4
Paft ha en k ! B r e he
f colleg He is the f mat itura
Bill Nobod } } ild « \
Hi cher frank and bo He f
and te a vod st hat ‘ and l 1
is as wholesome as | hea If he « Y
Supreme Bench l be | 1 for the lawye )
irom Saving, N B when th ire a lng
him, instead of *‘ Your Honor, Mr. ¢ ef Justi
When Taft wa 1 rep ron ( I iti new
bef he enty 1 ti t it ent t mre |
vave an iit a l hat "eve r Ké
hat « until th la here was a pap
prit lan al e about Alphor I , the
fathe ho w I lf a Se ar f Wa
Presid Grat ne la I n, sent
the editor tl } ild whip } "
went where | rea ib] COT ' ee }
editor appeared " pe f }
they ithered uy] ! i rhe i
he wa nt il I Ve
had } patched ! { ‘
laf 1 1 " }
is great ble H ! I
Philip He t he Pana ( ] H
»reo r the tt if
0 So! his e | He
} has to
He t he pr ‘ ill
cu t ‘ ime) r
come Phink he exal
eighth 1 ! T'} ii ily
t (tT I i
WwW t ) t ‘} ‘
measure re th 1 I
A SilK Hat Job
—— B \ ! r of Vashit
ear ‘ \ }
da! pout
He was in | fT

THOMAS |

Ber : la

l ive hir

i ve t
he

Are \

I ar '

\ rigt I
| ’

SkK»y-High Finance

ana

OWERY VY vil ,

and
| i i
}
}
und
hin
lont

{car
itu
re
t
on
il
| ne
‘ uT
j
and 1
ldn
i}
ila
rat
A
i
t i
'

The first derby made in America was a

C&K

Hats
for
Men

The De Luxe

most important, be-

“ cause the most con-
spicuous, item of his dress,
and there is no point onwhich

he must depend so entirely

on the honesty of the manu- |

facturer.
A hat ts one of
the few articles
in which raw
material is
transformed
through many
ingenious
mito
an entirely different product
practically under one roof.
It is easier and less costly to
put all the goodness on the
surface than
to make the
hat honest all
through.
Knapp-leltis
tl Wear-resist-
ing
unrivalled
beauty and
durability. It
is as honest tn the selection
of the best materials and
the most expert workman-
ship as it is on the surface,
and owing to the
and firmer texture it is less
affected by constant wear
than any other hat-fabric.

> finapp-fell &

hats are
of smart

pre WCSSES rhe Knapp -Felt

The C & kK Derby

( k ser

a number
The best

made
- hap S.

hatters sell them. Knapp-
Felt De Luxe hats are $6.

kKnapp-lelt hats are $4.

Write tor THE HATMAN
THE CrorutT & KNAPP Co.
‘4 Br i VaV, New y

fabric of

A man’s hat is the |

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

PLAYER
F O L A

©. BY PACH BROTHERS, WEW vORs

Clyde Fitch

A Dramatic Rose
7 ANY one who has seen Clyde Fitch

conducting rehearsals it is evident that
he spares no effort to attain the precise
effect he has in mind.
he finds rehearsals a greater tax on his
strength than the original writing of the
piece. What he has in mind he can put on
paper; but it is not so easy to me the
common run of stage people embody it.
Now and then, however, he finds an actor
who understands instinctively what he is
aiming at, and who brings him as much as
ie gives. After the production of The Girl
Who has Everything, he was full of praise
for Miss Eleanor Robson.
‘She is like a rose,” he said. ‘‘ You have
only to hold it in the warmth of your hands,
and it opens out to perfection!”’

Maid Marion

F yes KENDRICK BANGS tells this
eJ story on himself. His friend, Mr.
Marion Verdery, who is president of the
Southern Society of New York, had asked
him to speak at the annual dinner of the
society, and Mr. Bangs had accepted. But
on the evening of the dinner he was too ill
to go out, so he telegraphed his apologies
to Mr. Verdery at Delmonico’s. Late that
night Mr. Bangs’ telephone rang. Mrs.
Bangs went to the receiver and was told
that a telegram had just been received for
her husband. She asked to have it read
off, but the lady at the other end refused,
saying that the message was to be deliv-
ered to Mr. B: ungs personally, and, though
told of Mr. Bangs’ illness, stuck to her de-
cision. So the invalid sy on a wrapper
and struggled down to the receiver.

“In answer to your telegram to Del-
monico’s,” said the astute hello-girl, ‘the
clerk tele graphs back that there is no lady
of that name in the house.’

An Unfalstaffian May Irwin
AY IRWIN fully deserves her title

of the American Falstaff on the score
of her humorous jollity; but she has none
of Fat Jack's disregard of the conventional
moralities. When Bernard Shaw's Man
and Superman began its tour of the country
she saw it for the first time, and at the end
of the much-discussed first act she went
behind the scenes and unbosomed herself to
a friend of hers who was playing one of the
leading parts. The friend pointed out that
it had had one of the most successful runs
of the season in New York, and had called
forth only an occasional serious denuncia-
tion, being almost universally enjoyed and
very generally praised. In New York, Miss
Irwin answe A such things might be pos-
sible; but the country at large had not yet
sunk so low. These remarks were made
more in sorrow than in anger, and they were
received in the same spirit.

In her judgment of the public Miss Irwin
has already been proved in error. A few
angry and outraged people have demanded
their money back; but in Washington,

He himself says that |

April 14, 1906

Heating
Facts

The short life of stoves
and hot air furnaces
due to frequent repairs
gives them the nature
of an expense, while
the contrary is true of
Hot Water or Low
Pressure Steam
warming outfits. The
purchase of

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me, etc.

‘mountings “replaced free
Valuable book free
s full of forma T
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~ KIRSTE IN SONS CO., Dept. i

—_ lishe

Philadelphia, Brooklyn and Harlem the
play has already scored a success almost
as great, relatively, as on Broadway. And
it is perhaps not necessary quite to despair
of the morals of the Repaliie. Bronson
Howard has illumined the subject with his
usual solid se nse and acumen. When one
or two lines of the first act were repeated
to him, he said he could not imagine any
audience standing for them. But, when
he saw the play, the reason of its success
became clear. The one thing an audience
can be relied upon to respond to is genuine
andobvioussincerity. Ifthelineshad been
spoken for the mere sake of the laugh they
would have deserved reprobation, and
would have got it. But as it happened they
were spoken at a vital crisis by a man who
was heart and soul in earnest. He regarded
it a sign of the essential delicacy of the
public that it largely recognized this

Drink and the Actor

NLARA BLOODGOOD has very decided
views on the subject of strong drink
For the most part she succeeds in keeping
them to herself, but there are occasions upon
which, as she expresses it, the spirit of her
Quaker ancestors is too much for her. One
of these was the recent death of a young

actor, a friend of hers and an artist of the |

greatest promise, who was weakened and
finally killed by the use of stimulants.

The temptation, Mrs. Bloodgood says, is
particularly strong for an actor, because
success depends upon his power of a brief
period of enthusiasm and the vivacity and
force of his presence. But even though an
actor is very far from being drunk, an
audience instinctively feels the difference
between real magnetism, which is the
product of genuine health and vitality, and
any artificial stimulation. When an actor
goes on a debauch the result is far worse,

for the excesses of even a few hours are gen- |

erally followed by a much longer period of
reaction. Frequently she has known actors
of great natural health and magnetism to
lose all grip on their audiences for two and
even three days as the result of a single
night of stimulants. As for habitual intem-

perance, it is certain in the end to bring |

absolute ruin, and the more speedily the
finer and more temperamental the actor.
Mrs. Bloodgood named half a dozen men
who, though artists of a very high order, and
still in what should be their prime, have met
with failure after failure. In some cases

their intelligence is as great as ever, and |
their methods as artistic, but their faces |

have become heavy and coarse, and the

yublic has ceased to find in them that stimu- |

ation of a vigorous and healthy personality
which is so large a part of the legitimate
de ‘light in acting.

‘You can’toverwork old Mother Nature,’
Mrs. Bloodgood concluded. ‘'The more
you try to, the less she does for you.”” Then
she concluded with a finely feminine ob-
servation: ‘‘It’s like crimping hair that has
a natural curl. By-and-by it flattens out
like a bunch of tow.”

Scalping the Critics
R. WILLIAM A. BRADY'S nightly

curtain speeches breathing vengeance
upon the critics who had made fun of his
poetico-romantic drama, The Redskin,
were for the most part received as what

Johnson called a contribution to the gayety |
of nations; but there was one occasion |

when the critics had a moment of trepida-
tion. “If I had the nerve,” he is reported
as saying, ‘‘I’d send that band of real
Indians down into Newspaper Row to do a
little real di image among the funny news-
a r men.’

Vell, there had been a first night in a
neighboring theatre, and after the perform-

ance a party of them gathered on the sub- |

way platform in Times Square, awaiting
the train to take them down to Newspaper
Row. Suddenly, witha rustle of wampum,
a swish of feathers, and occasional grunts
and guttural exclamations, Mr. Brady's
band of real Sioux trooped into the station.
It was a spectacle of truly barbaric awe.
The Indians swung up to where the pale-
faced critics were standing—among them
the very man who had aroused the partic-
ular ire of Mr. Brady and his company by
referring to them as cigar Indians.

For one brief moment there was a rising
of hair on scalp-locks. Then the train

rumbled in, and critics and redskins parted |

e ||
8
(ieaeeeeed

to board separate cars. The Sioux were
on their way home after the evening
performance.

THE SATURDAY

EVENING POST

sane

Ne by

Collegian

Clothes

gk. gaining hundreds of new

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merchant tailors. You canbuy
a Collegian suit at $12 to $30 and
getatype of style that you will
admit is your idea of nobby
apparel. The Spring fash-
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retail clothiers every-
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him to let you try on
an Adler Collegian suit—(see

that the label is on the coat.) You
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—and after you’ve worn a Col-
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College Posters \ oy.

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By Famous 0" !stest book of correct
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This Label
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Nobby Clothes Makers, MILWAUKEE

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— rr:

16 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST April 14, 1906

THE BACH OF 4When the President of a Well-known Corporation found

‘ ad ~
Straight Krom RONE the carbon file-copy of an important letter so blurred in
TH E TH correcting that he couldn’t prove whether he “did” or “did not” agree to

‘ ‘
th + Shoulder (Continued from Page 9) do a certain thing—he declared in disgust “Even the mussy, slow-going

He was asking a pledge, taking security etter press is preferable i anes opy inaccuracy sm Okt was ject thes
of her. She, too, colored, looking up at him; . d

Bs saa fae 18 Se aneren but she did not answer. She had never told | that a “Y and E” man happened in, @‘“Let me put in a “Y and |
Wi a nit Sa ere! ig him all about her relations with the Mer- Letter Copier on thirty days’
& ipplicabletoSINCERITY CLOTHES, | chants. Good-natured Mrs. Merchant had Son total” hn eeaimenal
Prut oftes “ t truth mor n been having some of her dear, poor young eee Pp! t Be
} friend’s gowns put on her own bill. Bessie @Q The “Y and E” Copies
It ou tention t e you facts about ~ not mentioned it to oe , came, and it stayed! And
clon / , sard’s engagement called him from the ep <a
Clot n't Queerenough directly after the early dinner note this > It produc ed fa
' ni He returned at half-past eight. His wife simile file-copies, infinitely
_ Vilterent ©) t t ' ts wit was not there. Clearer and 60 per cent.
: ; There had never seemed to be any one a 5.
articular moment when he could lay his Cheaper than carbon copies,
1and tangibly on the difference between and in half the time required

t ten ery i them and put it right. Now it came to him
overwhelmingly that the flypaper, in spite
of its superior adhesive quilts, had been

y with about 80 per cent. of clothes | drawing them far apart. The tangible : him, we want to show you :

, t | | Frou ito play at | Moment had arrived—in an ugly and for- | “¥ and E™ Copying Paper isa conting @ag.) we not mail you “Y¥ and I Ay

t! t bidding aspect. He believed the Senator 4 ; wae

t t Cure-All of the rt . | had sent her about his sneak-thievery. | 0N!¥ 50 CENTS, How «

l Standing alone in his ridiculous little flat sete, 0 tters

\\ I I hrunken | which seemed mysteriously full of wreckage |... } - sas '
i bot t ins he remembered a merry girl who had AND "611 Superior Ave. N. I ‘ 136-140 W Ave NGTON

6 bige AINP? gh d evoked all the passionate will to cherishand | P!)'') AUN) PIIIA eee ts jonunto denen pecans

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: ae. rie also so » othe ngs . go ¢ ~ . . ‘ , ,

ts—per wmall’ still, white, cold four. He fought Yawman & Erbe Mfg. Co., “uxttvecs* Rochester, N. Y.
ere pe , | down the choking lump in his throat as well

‘ tt as he could. He wanted to be perfectly Easy to

Pieet.0 cecilia a Hinde of chou s square with her—giving her all the benefit © Remember
that | ! { | of the circumstance that he was pretty well | «y ang £

( irs that t aw ft t neck or tarred with the same stick, and had intro-
pind too tightly— duced her to it. Only, of course, he had

Lay that set iv from the collar expressly told her to keep out of this. That

Sleeves that twist, and pinch up under was rather conclusive. In a completely

mechanical way he then recalled that the
it fronts that wrinkle cr vise under Merchants were at a Cabinet dinner that

m slack evening. Naturally, it would have been
through his stepdaughter that the Senator
had reached Bessie. Perhaps it was odd
that he had no anger against Janet Temple-
ton. He left the flat with the shadowing
sense that he was walking to a final catas-
trophe.

The Senator’s house was modestly with-
drawn from the opulent competition of
Oupont Circle, yet neighborly and knowing
to it. The mansion was plainly, soberly
substantial without and rich within—for,
in the matter of his own residence, the
Senator had as nice an eye to the strong
points of the game as he had in making the
Quirinal very showy below and shabby
above. It was a well-ordered house. The
private secretary was admitted at once, asa

to insert second sheets, etc.

@ What we demonstrated to

Stsads fox
Simpler
Filing
Method

Allen’s Foot-Ease

a Shake Into Your Shoes

matter of course, and found his own way to ; Rei:
er” A Foam wa Allen’s Foot- Ease, a powder for the
SINCERITY CLOTHES are » ee the apartment where Miss Templeton and Wj) feet. It re painful, swollen,
MR debe an Sp recede se Rca pat she his wife were. They sat in a far, snug cor- smarting, nervous feet, and instant!
cick cdma: 8 Nj ged ra ner, which managed to give an effect of db ae ie te coeatae st comfort. dis
nentiv vestore the imperfectionsof the earment | COZy intimacy thougnit af nae eee ——— covery of the age. vs Foot
‘ to mistal in the 1 that by wide spaces open as daylight—open as ane pees Smuc er Me or ne
t vay we make SINCERITY CLOTHES the Senaniats bland smile. , COMFORT & racy wee : "pe ee a
—by é hands ion The two women were not surprised to poe lous and hot, tired, aching feet. We
But Needle-Work is t ‘y thing in see him. .-There was no embarrassment. | wings IT TO-DAY. Sold by all Dracgist
clot m gx, next to expert designing and They received him in an emotionless, and Shoe Stores, 9 b cont —_ not
«cca ~ abstracted, matter-of-course way—very . ii hakaaa_
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er Be age = yh aha up apathetically when a figure passes Foot-Ease” ALLENS. OLMSTED, Le Roy, N. Y.
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picture, and you will see that the r ed waited like them. He mentioned vaguely : Ot end (iasolene Engines
- “re , line © ie perfe y straight that the evening was warm. Money Refunded To Any Dissatisfied Purchaser A ., title dines : tien
I Flit-lron ve rape to the Collar Bessie looked at him in her abstracted f r dealer does not carry QBOID, send = de = + sen
y : ’ way. He looked back, seeing over and over t a waht hs Alena 0 Eason, , > wirel toy ¢ sperk
I I INCERITY CLOTHES t the girl—and the other things. Janet : ey ee eee aecen. aoa
4 . no need of Flat- Templeton reclined in a tall chair, her fine, tp es, es . 20¢ ; everywhere, Seed for nearest
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Along with trunks, headless do ul (
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One leg is rickety Glue will fix that

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F the upholstering is torn If one ild
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THE

It reminds me,’ he said, ‘‘that it’s
spring out on the Little Stony. The woods
must be green by now There's a lot of
peace on earth and good will to men in the
tall-grass country in the spring

Miss Templeton, standing, loosely clasped
her slender hands. ‘‘Jim— you didn’t suc-
ceed?"’ Her low voice seemed not only to
forgive him for it, but to love him, too

Brisbane's des p-set brown ¢« yes tw inkled
gravely up at her

“T’'ve done an awful deed, Janey he
re plied soberly and the \ began to feel the
loathness of a man to whom humor is infi
nitely precious to let go of it I've put the
‘come-alongs’ on Lydia Anne Hinkley.’
He hung to it for another mis« rly moment

At the ripe age of forty-four, t} lat paragon
of female wisdom missed by the skin of her
teeth being the eighth living spouse of a
gentleman who sometimes delivered tem-
perance lectures during the closed seasons
for bigamy, forgery, arson and gold bricks
As it on [eae Fy I was that same saving
skin; and could cite book 3 and page if so dis-
posed. It brought the letter He took
from his inner pocket a fine white Senatorial
envelope, bearing the Merchant frank and
addressed to Rev. John Wesley Some rsby,
in care of Lydia Anne Hinkley. ‘This i
among ourselves, on honor, children,’’ he
added. ‘‘ You know there's always a way to
Save every situation-——except your own

Miss Templeton, standing before him with
tightly-clasped hands, said slowly I
knew you wouldn't fail. You don’t fail,
Jim.’’ Most astonishingly she reached forth
her slim hz inds, put one to eac h fat cheek,

and so uptilte “dd ris bane’s home ly face that
she could look dee ply down upon it — pug
nose, knobby brow, bald spot and all

“The man inside isn’t altogether squat
and bow-legged, Janey You always gave
me the fullest allowance you could for
that,’’ he replied simply

Her hands dropped back to her sides, and
he arose. ‘‘ You're off the sticky flypaper
now, Bessie,”’ he said. ‘‘ You too, Billy, il
you're minded to get off
friends that will stake you. It’s pre
good out on the Little Stony.”

Bard was hardly thinking of his own
iffair. Something else filled his heart with
kind of awe “You knew--about it
he que stione d, when he and his wife were in

the hall.

‘Janet told me this evening, after she'd
sent him,” she replied, in almost his own
subdued, wonder-charged tone It wa
good while ago. She loves him— vet
It was hardly necessary to explain further,
knowing Janet and Brisbane

Billy, Mrs Me rchant had Janet send
for me I suppose I'd have had t aft
the letter if Jim hadn't got it \
take me home — back to the Little Stony ?

The awe of the other unfulfilled love
cl: arific d the ? hearts. ‘‘We'll go home,
Bess,” he said, under his breath, indifferent
that a footman was staring at the way they
looked at each other We've had enough
of this flypaper business.”’

ou Ve got
t

(
ty

Electric Lettuces

HERE is reason to expect that before

long new and improved kinds of lettuce
will be on the market. The Government
Plant Bureau has been engaged recently
in crossing some of the cultivated varieti«

a thing hitherto supposed to be impos-
sible -the most important object in view
being to secure types that are specially

lapted for growing under glass

What is wanted is lettuce that will ripen
quickly, head readily, and be proof against
diseases. Already a number of new types
of superior ¢ xcellence have been obtained
and “‘field trials’’ have been made of some
of them, the best plants being picked out
for the purpose of propagation. Hitherto
gardeners have been obliged to depend
altogether upon such selection for the
improvement of their lettuces, but the
opportunity of breeding them will open up
new possibilities.

It is an interesting and rather curious
fact that lettuce is the only electric er
so to speak, that is commercially successful
For a number of years past lettuces have
been grown by the help of electric light
which is made to supplement the sunshine
of short winter days so effectively as to
render possible the raising of three or four
crops under glass during the cold season.

The Plant Bureau is also making crosses
of superior foreign varieties of tomatoes
with a view to securing types better adz apte d
for forcing than those now on the marke

SATURDAY EVENING POST

WINTON Reserve-Power

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The Incomplete
Amorist

Continued from Pade 7?

faces felt cold, like the faces of dead people.
She shivered.
“Heaven knows what I should do without
you to—to bring my —my roses to,”’ he said.
“Do you bring me anything e ‘Ise to-day?”
she roused herself to ask. “Any news, for
instance?’

“‘No,” he said. ‘‘There isn’t any news—
there never will be. She’s gone home—I’m
certain of it. Next week I shall go over to
England and propose for her formally to her
ste »pfather. a

‘A very proper course!

It was odd that reid to some one else
should make one’s head throb like this.
And it was so difficult to know what to say.
Very odd. It had been much easier to talk
to the Inward Monitor.

She made herself say: ‘
isn't there?”’ She thought she sai
well.

‘Well, then, there’s no harm done.

“He doesn’t like you.” She was glad she
had remembered that.

“He didn’t—but the one little word
‘marriage,’ simply spoken, is a magic spell
for taming s savage re Jatives. The *y'll eat out
of your hand after that—at least, so I’m
told.’

It was awful that he should decide to do
this—heart-breaking. But it did not seem
to be hurting her heart. That felt as though
it wasn't there. Could one feel emotion in
one’s hands and feet? Hers were ice-cold -
but inside they tingled and glowed, like a
worm of fire in a chrysalis of ice. What a
silly simile!

‘Must you go?” was what she found her-
self saying. ‘Suppose she isn’t there at all ?
You'll simply be giving her away—all her
secret —and he'll fetch her home.”

T hat, at least, was quite cle arly ’ put.

‘I’m certain she is at home,” he said.
**And I don't see why I am waiting till next
week. I'll go to-morrow.

If you are pulling a rose to pieces it is very
important 4. lay the petals in even rows on
your lap, especially if the rose be white.

‘**Eustace,” she said, suddenly feeling
quite coherent, ‘I wish you wouldn’t go
away from Paris just now. I don’t believe
you'd find her. I have a feeling that she’s
not faraway. I think that is quite sensible.
I am not saying it because 1-—-and—I feel
very ill, Eustace. I think I am—oh, I am
going to be ili, very ill, | think! Won't you
wait a little? You'll have such years and
vears to be happy in. I don't want to be
ill here in Paris with no one to care.

She was leaning forward, her hands onthe
arms of her chair. and for the first time that
day he saw her face plainly. He said: “I
shall go out now and wire for your sister.”

‘Not for worlds! I forbid it. She'd
drive me mad. No—but my head's running
round like a beetle ona pin. I think you'd
better go now. But don’t go to-morrow.
ImeanI think I'll gotosleep. I feelasif I'd
tumbled off the Eiffel towe rand been caught
on a cloud—one side of it’s cold and the |
other’s blazing.”

He took her hand,
he kissed the hand.

“My dear, tired,
“T'll send ina Fn ony
I won't go to-morrow. I'll write.”

“Oh, very well,” she said, ‘write then
and it will all come out —about her being
here alone. And she'll always hate you. /
don’t care what you do!

suppose I can write a letter as though

as though I'd not seen her since Long

Barton.” He inwardly thanked her for
that hint.

‘*A letter written from Paris? That's so
likely, isn't it? But do what you like. /
don't care what you do!”

She was faintly, agreeably surprised to

notice that she was speaking the truth.
‘It's rather pleasant, do you know,”’ she
went on dreamily, ‘‘when everything that
matters suddenly goes flat, and you wonder
what onearth you ever worried about! Why
do people always talk about cold shivers?
I think hot shivers are much more amusing.
It’s like askylark singing —up —close to the
sun, and doing the tremolo with its wings.
I'm sorry you re going away, though.”

“I'm not going away,” he said. “I
wouldn't leave you when you're ill for all
the life’s happinesses that ever were. Oh,
why can't you cure me? I don't want to
want her: | want to want you.”

And _ pose she
it rather

”

felt her pulse Then

jasmine lady,’’ he said,
And don’ t worry;

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

April 14,

1906

est Linen Velour—with enve
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“I'm certain,”” said Lady St. Crave
brightly, ‘‘that what you've just been say-
ing’s most awfully interesting, but I like to
hear things said ever so many times. Then
the seventh time you understand every-
thing, and the coldness and the hotness turn
into silver and gold and eve er} thing is quite
beautiful, and | think 1 am not saying ex-
actly what you cancel den't
don't know that what I say sounds like non-
sense. I know that quite well, only I can’t
stop talking. You know one is like that
sometimes. It was like that the night you
hit me.”

“1? Hit you?”

He was kneeling by her low chair holding
her hand, as she lay back talking quickly in
low, even tones, her golden eves shining
wonderfully.

‘No you didn’t call it hitting But
things aren’t always what we call t} ,
they? You mustn't kiss me now, Eustace
I think I've got some horrid fever — I’m sure

I have. Because, of course, nobody could
be bewitched nowadays, and put into a
body that feels thick and thin in the wrong

places And mv head ‘too ig to ge

through the door — of course I know it isn't
It would be funny ifit were. I dolove funny
things—sodo you. I like to hear vou laugh

I wish I could say something funny, so as to
hear you laugh now.’

She was holding his hand very tightly
with one of hers. The other held the white
roses. All her mind braced itself to a great
exertion as the muscles do for a needed
effort. She spoke very slowly

‘*Listen, Eustace. I am going to be ill
Get a nurse and a doctor and goaway. Per-
hapsitisecatching. And if I fall through the
floor,”’ she added, laughing, ‘‘it is so hard
to stop!”

Put your arms around my neck,” he
said, for she had risen and was swaying like
a flame in the wind. The white rose-leaves
fe ll in showers

“I don't think I want to, now,” she said,
astonishe d that it should be so.

“Oh, yes, you do!”” He spoke as one
spe: aks to a child : Put your arms aroun d
Eustace’s neck your own Eustace that’s
so fond of you.”

“Are you?” she said, and her arms fell
across his shoulders

‘*Of course Lam,” he said. ‘‘ Hold tight.”

He lifted her and carried her, not quite
steadily, for carrying a full-grown woman
is not the bagatelle novelists would have us
believe it.

He opened he r bedroom door, laid her on
the w hite, lac Vv cove = of her bed

‘“*Now,”’ he said, *‘ you are to lie quite still
You've be en SO good ¢ ‘and dear and unselfish.
You've always do yne everything I've aske d,
even difficult things. This is quite easy.
Just lie still and think about me till I come
back.”

He bent over the bed and kissed her
gre ntly

“Ah!” she sighed. There was a flacor
on the table by the bed He « xpecte d it to
be jasmine. It was lavender water; he
drenched her hair and brow and hands.

*That’s nice,”’ said she I'm not re ally
ill. I think it’s nice to be ill. Quite still do
you mean, like that?”

She folded her hands, the white roses still
clasped. The white bed, the white dress,
the white flowers. Horrible!

“Yes,” he said firmly, ‘‘just like that
I shall be back in five minutes.”

He was not gone three. He came back
and—till the doctor came, summoned by
the concierge—he sat by her, holding her
hands, covering her with furs from the ward-
robe when she shivered, bathing her wrists
with perfumed water when she threw off the
furs and spoke of the fire that burned in her
secret heart of cold clouds.

When the doctor came he went out by
that excellent Irishman’s direction and
telegraphed for a nurse

Then he waited in the cool, shaded sitting-
room, among the flowers. This was where
he had hit her—as she said. There on the
divan she had cried, leaning her head
against his sleeve. Here, half-way to the
door, they had kissed each other. No, he
would certainly not go to England while she

was ill. He felt sufficiently like a murderer |

already. But he would write. He glanced
at her writing-table

A little pang pricked him and drove him
to the baleony,

‘“‘No,”’ he said; “if we are to hit people,
at least let us hit them fairly.”’ But all the
same he found himself playing with the
word-puzzle, whose solution was the abso-
lutely right letter to Betty's father, asking
her hand in marriage.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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| thought he would write‘

THE SATURDAY

‘‘Well,”” he asked the doctor, who closed |
softly the door of the be droom and came
forward, ‘‘is it brain fever?’

“Holy Ann, no! Brain fever’s a fell
disease invented by novelists—I never met
it in all my experience. The doctors in
novels have special advantages. No, it’s
influenza—pretty severe touch, too. She
ought to have been in bed daysago. She'll
want careful looking after.”

“‘T see,” said Vernon. ‘‘Any danger?”

“There's always danger, Lord—Saint-
Croix, isn’t it?

“T have not the honor to be Lady St.
Craye’s husband,”’ said Vernon equably.

‘I was merely calling, and she seemed so ill
that I took upon myself to——”’

“*T see—I see. Well, if you don’t mind
taking on yourself to let her husband know?
It’s a nasty case. Temperature is 104.
Perhaps her husband ’ud be as well here as
anywhere.”

“He's dead,” said Vernon.

“Oh!” said the doctor with careful
absence of expression. ‘‘Get some woman
to put her to bed and to stay with her till
the nurse comes. She’s in a very excitable
state. Good-afternoon. I'll look in after
dinner.”

When Vernon had won the concierge to
the desired service, had seen the nurse

installed, had dined, called for news of
Lady St..Craye, learned that she was

“toujours tris soujfrante,” he went home,
— a table into the middle of his large,
yare, hot studio, and sat down to write to
the

V / dear

I have the honor to ask the hand of
your daughterinmarriage. Whenyou
asked me, most properly, my inten-
tions I told you that J was betrothed
to another lady. This is not now the
case. And I have found myself wholly
unable to forget the impression made
upon me last year by Miss Desmond
My income is about £1700 a year, and
increases yearly. I beg to apologize
for anything which may have annoyed
you in my conduct last year, and to
assure you that my esteem and affec-
tion for Miss Desmond are lasting and
profound, and that, should she do me
the honor to accept my proposal, I
shall devote my life's efforts to securing
her happiness,

am, my dear sir,
Your obedient servant,
Eusrace Vernon,

Reverend Cecil Underwood:

Sir

‘That ought to do the trick,’’ he told him-
self. ‘* Talk of Old World courtesy and cere- |
monial! Anyhow, I shall know whether
she’s at Long Barton by the time it takes to
get an answer. If it’s two days, she’s there.
If it’s longer, she isn’t. He'll send my letter
on to her—unless he suppresses it.”

There is nothing so irretrievable as a
posted letter. This came home to Vernon |
as the envelope dropped on the others in
the box at the Café du Dome—came home
to him rather forlornly.

Next morning he called with more roses
for Lady St. Craye, pinky ones this time.

“Miladi was toujours trés rante. It
would be ten days, at least, before Miladi
could receive —even a very old friend.”

The letter reached Long Barton between
the Guardian and a catalogue of Some Rare
Books. The Reverend Cecil read it four
times. He wastrying to be just. At first he
No”’ and tell Betty
yearslater, But the young man had seen the
error of his ways. And £1700 a year——!

The surprise-visit with which the Rever-
end Cecil had always intended to charm his
stepdaughter suddenly found its date quite
letinitely fixed. This could not be written.
He must go to the child and break it to her
very gently, very tenderly —find out quite
delicately what her real feelings were.

Miss Julia Desmond had wired him from
Suez that she would be in Paris next week —
asked him to meet her there.

“Paris next Tuesday, Gare St. Lazare,
6:45. Come and see Betty via Dieppe,’
had been her odd message.

He wrote a cablegram to Miss Julia Des-
mond: ‘Care CaptainS.S. Urania, Brindisi.
Will meet you in Paris.”” Then he thought
that this might seem to the tele ‘graph people
not quite nice, so he changed it to: ‘Going
to see Lizzie, Tue sday.’ :

The Fates that had slept so long were
indeed waking up and beginning to take
notice of Be ‘tty. Destiny, like the most
attractive of the porters at the Gare de
| L yons, *

sou

had

8 Oct ‘pad ad eile,

(TO BE CONTINUED)

EVENING POST

April 14, 1906

14 H.P. Engine Only $33.15
6 “ 6“ $44.00

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Chicago New York
Established 1865

JOAQUISTITA

Fifth and last, the Indians kept no scouts
in the desert, and hence would be unlike ly

» detect my escape should I reach it.

Although I now set them forth in a very
few words, it must not be supposed that
my plans had not required months of
preparation and alteration. For instance,
it had taken me four months to get my
revolver. It was also necessary to put
Dona through a course of regular training
which had to be done entirely on the quiet
In addition, my inquiries of the Mexicans
as to the direction of the settlements had
to be conducted with the greatest care
About two hundred miles to the eastward,
I was informed, lay Chihuahua City, but
whether northeast, due east or southeast
no one seemed to know.

As would naturally be conjectured, |
S¢ lected the second day of the second corn
feast of 1885, which was the twenty-fourth
day of October, the day after the voluntary
sacrifice of Pextl’s daughter The entire
male portion of the nation were in an ad-
vanced state of intoxication, which favored
my purpose, but it had the disadvantage of
their turning up in the most unexpected
places. The guards, of course, drank
nothing under pain of death

It was nearly one o'clock on the morning
of October 25 before the village fell ask ep
Drunken warriors lay everywhere, but the
night was fairly dark. Stripping myself
naked, I greased my body from the waist,
and then made my way to the corral where
all the horses and mules were tethered,
only a hundred feet or so from the temple
A single sentinel stood with his back to a

ull tamarisk, fast asleep. Clearly, it wa
his life or mine

I crept up behind him, stepped suddenly
round the tree, and plunged my knife with
all my force into his breast. It passed
through his body and some inches into the
tree

The Indian’s head fell forward and a
grunt came from his throat; his knees gave
way and fora moment the body hung
pended by the knife, then the knife pulled
out and he fell to the ground in a he ap, dead
: a tanner. This is the only life I ever

ve taken in cold blood, and I believe that
in an final account God will charge off this
act as one of necessity and fully justified
I now searched among the horses until |
found Dona, and selected as well the two
best ponies which I saw there (binding the
hoofs of all three in sacking filled with grass
to deaden their sound), and led them to the
edge of the corral where I tethered them
together.

Then I retraced my steps to the temple
‘*Okio’s House." Feeling my way care-
fully through the darkness, I finally reached
the old wooden god and with much difficulty
managed to tear off his loose buckskin
coat (being first obliged to rip open one of
the sleeves); the leggins gave me _ less
trouble, for I simply unlaced them. I got
into Okio’s clothes, fastened them as best I
could, and then removed his head-dress,
which, being all in one piece, I easily tied
upon my own head. In the full panoply

i Joaquistitan warrior, save for my long
brown beard, I emerged from the temple,
found Dona and the ponies, mounted one of
them, and started out of the village on the
trail to the San Rafael Cafion

It was what you might call a patchy
night. Overhead the clouds hung thick
and low, but moving, and now and then
opening to let through the stars; the fuil
moon hehind the clouds made a sort of
luminous darkness. In about two hours
I reached the point where the San Rafael
enters the mountains, and found .- self
( perigee Saag arrow shelf of trail by the brink
of the river, which now phinged downward
in papers and rapids. The descent
was far more dangerous and precipitous
than in the Sonora Canon and was nothi
more nor less than a mountain path But
the pony upon which I rode was sure-footed
and Dona followed on behind as best she
could. Had I seen this ravine by daylight
I should never have had the courage to
attempt it, but fortune favored me, and by
the time the east whitened ahead of me I
had dropped several thousand feet toward
freedom. Still the trail continued down-
ward, crossing and re-crossing the river,
which here became a seething torrent;
the scanty growth of the exposed mountain-
side gave place to heavy timber; the air
grew warmer and once more I felt the soft
breath of the pines. Then the grade

THE SATURDAY

EVENING POST 21

{ — meen
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[he Solution of
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xemplified in thet SY-CLO is sol tructed of china
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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

river narrowed, the path
jlunged into a thick wood,
emerged into a wide, grass-
covered valley. Behind me the mountains
rose sheer five or six thousand feet. The
river had entirely disappeared. The sun
rose over the plain and turned the porphyry
of the Sierra to burnished gold. I looked
in vain for the San Rafael or for the ravine
by which it had broken through the barrier.
The mountains rose smooth and impreg-
nable. I could scarce believe that two
hours before I had been imprisoned behind
their jagged summits and had escaped as
it were by an invisible tunnel. No wonder,
I thought, that the Joaquistitans did not

lessened, the
widened and
and suddenly

: fear invasion from the east.

A feeling of security came over me as I
started briskly out over the harsh grass of
the desert, heading full into the sun. Be-
fore me lay the unlimited plain, which I
then supposed stretched eastward all the
way to Chihuahua, but I had not ridden
many miles before a second range of rather
low mountains rose before me, and others
also on the north and south which seemed
to converge and grow more distinct as I
proceeded, In other words, I found my-
self entirely surrounded by mountains T
could not go back. I had to go on and find
a pass through the second barrier as best
I could

Then a feeling of uneasiness came over
me. The mountains were all so silent and
the plain so devoid of life, and looking back
to the dogs’-teeth peaks of the Sierra I saw,
rising straight into the air like chimneys,
three long columns of blue smoke. My
heart jumped into my throat and I spurred
on my jaded pony into a trot. My escape
had been discovered. What was the
meaning of those three ominous pillars of
smoke? WasIto be ambushed? In which
direction lay my unknown peril—north,
east or south? In the awful silence of the
desert fear took possession of me. My
river had vanished and I could give no
water to my suffering animals. What
mysterious region was this where even the
rivers disappeared to thwart the escape of
prisoners and the approach of enemies?
I had at best only five hours’ start of my
pursuers. On I went, trotting and walking
my horse by turns until the mountains
drew together in a narrow pass, shutting
out the view of the Sierra, and the trail,
clinging to the sheer side of a precipice, once
more rapidly descended.

Suddenly I heard a shout. in Mexican of
“Throw up your hands!” and a warrior
stepped from behind a ledge with his rifle
eves at my breast. Behind him stood a
woman with a child in her arms. I threw
up my hands. Indeed, I had no option in
the matter, and the Indian directed me to
give my revolver to the woman. His
expression, as he observed me in Okio’s
festive raiment, was one to be long re-
membered. I obeyed his instructions by
presenting the handle of my Colt to the
squaw, but as she reached forward to grasp
it, twirled the gun on my thumb (a trick
familiar to all miners) and discharged it
at my captor. We both fired together.
His bullet only ran through my hair and
clipped off one of Okio's vermilion feathers,
but mine entered his forehead and he fell
forward motionless

The woman uttered no sound, but sank
on her knees, and I lost no time in binding
her hand and foot. During this time the
little scowled so fiercely at me that it
was almost comical. She was a handsome
as I climbed upon my pony’s
red to me that in the event of

wing found by my pursuers she
tarve to death or perhaps be eaten
animals. I therefore leaned over

one

nd cut

‘ the thongs that bound her with my
knife and started on. But in the excite-
ment I had forgotten the rifle, and I had
not gone more than fifty yards before a shot
whizzed by my ear. The lady had not seen
fit to return my courtesy. She continued

firing until a jutting rock put me out of
range, but fortunately her marksiaanship
not very good and none of her shots
either myself, the ponies or Dona.
» pass ended as suddenly as it had
Once re I found myself on the
= time with no mountains save
nd It was now about midda
and I fk ‘it the heat very keenly, for the
temperature on the plateau had always
been cool and invigorating. The pony
was giving signs of exhaustion and kept
stumbling. I could show him no mercy,
and ten miles farther he sank down with
a groan, unable to rise. I changed
mount and kept on for about fifteen miles

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

more, when in the same manner as the first
the second pony collapsed

t was now about five in the afternoon
the sun was sinking he over the burning
ridge of the Sierra, as | looked back
over the foothills Be cae the pass W here i
had shot the Indian, I could see dust
hanging low over the horizon, the dust of
yursuing horsemen. They could not have
een more than twenty miles behind, but
I had still on eer ly fresh hors

and | me ang upon Jona’s back

By si t | could no longer ee an) dust
behind me, and I rested Dona for a \
and then continued for about t !
more, whe I decided to rest W

both suffering acutely from thirst, but I
stumbled upon a bunch of cactus in the
starlight, and trampling it down cut it open

t
and into slices with my knife and fed it to
the mare as well as taking some mysel

Then I lay down beside her and sk unt

‘ i J
és : 9° midni eM. when I awoke burning with thirst
i Once more I climbed wearily upon Dona’s
| apa pe aggered on across the plait

The east paled, whitened, grew fier red

REG. U.S PAT OFF like a furnace and the sun rose ike a ball of
fire I no longer knew in which direction

Summer Underwear Iwas going. Ihungint ~ saddle, swayit
from side to side, hearing strange vores

The plain wheeled rout 1 me in sl om, re-

keeps the skin cool, clean and fragrant,

when the sun sizzles. h ethos ae an y cs ; a 4 ong , '

*Porosknit ” lets your body breathe lum. I must ha me uncon e ‘N
through its thousands of air spaces. for to myself lying fact sates alt ag Pom pe 1 a fi

“ Porosknit ” absorbs all excess mois- . = ae oe oa . " been entree ”
ture, dries in a wink, sheds odor and Dona was standing up to her belly in a pool M @ g
dampness immediately, of clear , fresh w ater, drinkit I rt assagve C rea m

* Porosknit” is light, soft, “stretchy,” : rye sled to the — ost es . : ns
and being cut with tailor care, fits in Scan il al a he seein “
neck and shoulder just like a coat. know n v Joy ‘al l

took off Okio's suit mn

Ask your dealer for
the bank, and roll

I cone ‘lu led that t

‘*Porosknit’’ subterranean st

il
Booklet in blue and gold, “* From Dawn la) "he re in the tall ir
To Bed,” free to those who write for it. in the afternoon, 2 l Nal ut

upon a wild turkey sitting upon the edge of
CHALMERS KNITTING CO. another small hole nearby. The bird didt
seem in the least disturbed by my approach,
1 Washington St., Amsterdam, New York , .
and I succeeded in getting near enough to
shoot it in the head with my revolver
Then I built a fire of dry grass and stul

NO and, plastering the blue mud of the water-

hole all over the turkey, put it on the coals

M ATTER and heaped the fire upon it. That was the
d grandest feast that ever I had

WHERE Extraordinarily refreshed, Dona and I

made some thirty-five miles before ten

YoU o'clock that evening, when we found some

more cactus and wentinto camp until about

LIVE six the next morning. We awoke to find

ourselves in an undulat ‘

% interest Pp ially wooded, and 1k

the desert. We had made about fifteen

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fientlemen

POMPEIAN MFG. CO, |
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A Sterling Silver

compounded twice a ~ nage area sane I was again ee by RARE TOBACCO Cigar Cutter
year, on money 1e words ands up: and a Me xican : + ‘
deposited in our sprang from behind a boulder in front of me Hs j French’s Mixture
savings department. “Do not shoot!” I cried in Mexican I i
4 : am not an Indian, but an es “aped pri ner
I) ts ma mor fore the 16th of The Mexican approached with leveled :
. ae P eens . - a + . or One Doll Tt
’ craw vee Seen rifle, satisfied himself that what I said was dogs ae See | he R. Ss
; true, and informed me that he belonged t i =
You : } eg . a 2 the band of Crococupio, otherwise known as Ci rar Cutter
caine an fae tt a ‘Red Dick,” a well-known Mexican outla’ ge
isin ‘le = “i As I knew that any one who had escaped t
ak ane Gath eae ae ven from Indians was regarded almost as sacred a FRENCH TOBACCO CO : One Dollar
> att with this tatitut I accepted his invitation to accompany Department D tates N F.H. Dickson, 21A Maiden Lane, N.Y.
Our booklet “ Banking ! M ex him to his camp, where Crococupio received = :
nl ervt t for the me kindly + A . 8 tle
plains everyt “4 1 cul fut ith are ae ae or ¢ p Sits y
sk By Sunday I got to Nombre de Dios Clearing Sale occ

aerinatenrenawdeina

crue TRUS TCo PROCRESSIVE inding that I was an escaped prisoner, | ms I Y I EW RI I ERS

UNI0* MPany = crowded around, overwhelming mé Three Times Its Par Value we
zane

Dept th questions as to relatives and comrade

COURTEOUS, People were coming out of the church * ————

Providence, Rhode Island whe at one time or another had been e }
aT) > “the idians fre nt jerre 2. y : . ‘i ,
Surplus $1,500,000.00 Deposits $15,000,000.00 captured by “the Indians from the Sierra Banking by Mail FREI
9 + In several instances I was able to assur - : ; toda
— them that the persons for whom the cere ens SOO See aan eee, Bae.

ing waa en re still alive, th om in captivit :

in the mines of Joaquistita. I had stopped Solid as a Rock (Ridpath Free Coupon
Don, a just in front of the pe and I was ;

still arrayed in Okio’s damaged garments RR

In the midst of it all the door of the church

opened and the old priest can 4 Jar » rect
offered up a prayer of thanksgivi 7 er Cent Inte shite
escape while the people all sank upon their
knees They then escorted me to the houss
of Pedro Gomez, one of their leading men,
where I again recounted my adventures and
part ook of his midday meal, after which I
slept for a * time and then rode on
to Chihuahua City

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did all in their power to relieve my pain,
with such success that in a week I was able
to go by rail to El Paso and thence to St.
Louis. Here I stopped for a few days to
rest my wound, and - chance met Pawnee
Bill, an old friend of mine, to whom, at his
request, I presented Okio’s suit. I then
returned to New York and went at once to
Fishkill.

My parents were overjoyed to see me
again, for the massacre of our party had
become known in September, 1884, when
J.B. Seavey, a well-known miner, had found
the remains of my nine comrades in the

Sonora Cafion, and in addition a newly- |

made grave, which seemed to account for
our entire party.

As I go over these happenings of twenty
years ago, amid the bustle and noiseof
New York City, they seem even stranger
than they did at the very time, but in the
early eighties my name was a not unfamiliar
one in the West and our expedition had
attracted some attention, so that the news
of its complete extermination had been
= graphed all over the country. I have
before me now a copy of Harper’s Weekly
for October 11, 1884, which bears upon its
cover a_ full-page illustration de picting
myself and comrades being massacred in
the Sierra Madre, together with a poem
describing the ghastly horrors of my death.
In addition I have many clippings from
other papers to the same effect. After a
short trip to Mexico for the purpose of
settling up what affairs I had there, I re-
turned to New Y ork, and, tired of wande ring
and adventure, joined the New York police
in 1886. Next year I shall have served
twenty years and have become entitled to
an honorable discharge and a pension. I
intend to organize a yarty to return to the
Sierra Madre via Chihuahua, to locate, if I
can, the Aztec town of Joaquistita, which
was for sixteen months my home.

Humors of
Yellow Journalism

(Concluded from Page 2)

Indignant people frequently break cam-
eras and attempt to chastise the photogra-

phers. Neither of these incide tom feazes
them. ‘They get new cameras and know
how to use their fists a bit themselves. A

drubbing is part of the day’s work if it
comes, but, usually, people are chary about
attempting to assault newspaper repre-
sentatives. Those charming pictures
accentuating his physical characteristics

of J. Pierpont idee “getting into his
cab"’ and doing other commonplace things
are snapshots at that distinguished but
unamiable financier. Every one of them
makes him look like a gargoyle. There are
some wise men who stand still and take it.
These get into the papers looking somewhat
like themselves,

There is one unbreakable yellow rule
about pictures: ‘‘Never print a_ picture
of an ugly woman. If she is ugly, make

her pretty.” No matter what sort of a
painted ruin is concerned in a scandal, no
matter how plain is the poor, but honest,
working-girl left a million dollars by the
man to whom she spoke pleasantly over
the telephone, they are always in the paper
as “‘ beautiful,”’ and the artist sup soles shad
Nature forgot. Take it from the yellows
and there isn’t an ugly woman in the news.
Take it from the reporters and there are
very few pretty ones. That makes no
difference to the yellow editor: ‘‘Make
‘em all pretty.” And they are all pretty

in the paper. A favorite diversion was
to print reproductions of miniatures of
great society ladies. Miniature artists
always do their best with their subjects.
There are wrinkled old crones in society in
New York and elsewhere whose only news-
paper portraits are miniatures painted
when they were buds.

of the
afternoon.
with it. Next

One of the yellows printed a story
mysterious death of a girl one
A beautiful picture went
day the girl named in the story and, pre-
sumably, depicted in the cut, came around
to the office. She saw the editor.

‘I want to protest against that,”
pointing to the article and the

‘What's the matter with it?”
editor.

“Well, it’s about me and I am not dead

and that is not my picture.
‘My dear, young lady,”’ said the editor,
‘if that is the case what difference does it

make?”’

she
yicture,
asked the

said,

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

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Four-cylinder Tourind-che

Five passengers. Air-cooled motor. 20 “ Franklin
horse-power. Three speed sliding gear transmis-
sion. Shaft drive. Disc clutch. Force-feed oiler on
dash. 100-inch wheel base. 1800 pounds.
45 miles per hour. Full head- and
tail-light equipment. $2800
f.o.b. Syracuse.

This is the ‘¢*good big” car you’re looking for—big power, big
strength, and with all the look of a big car.

Does big things. But as to big weight; big trouble and big
fuel and tire bills—NO, it hasn’t a bit of that sort of bigness.

Weight only 1800 pounds. With an enormous surplus of
power, due to a motor of highly original and well thought-out
design. No plumbing to lug around or tinker; nothing to freeze
in winter or overheat in summer.

No ‘30 horse”’ car will go faster or easier on smooth roads,
and no car of any power will go more miles in a day on the
average American road.

Write for the Franklin catalogue—you have never seen so

handsome or so clear a book.
Four-cylinder Runabcut $1400 Four-cylinder Light Touring-car $1800
Four-cylinder Touring-car $2800 Six-cylinder Touring-car $4000

Prices f. 0. b. Syracuse.

H. H. FRANKLIN MFG. CO., Syracuse, N.Y.

Member Association Licensed Automobile Manufacturers

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Full text of "The Saturday Evening Post 1906-04-14: Vol 178 Iss 42"

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